Night Time
by Laine3112
Summary: With Tony still recovering in Stillwater, the prosecutor's case begins to unravel. Both sides of the law realize the only thing standing between Thomas Grayson and freedom is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. SEQUEL TO WITHDRAWAL ** NOW COMPLETE **
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

Night time is street slang for the evening onset of heroin withdrawal (start of night time.)

A/N – Much of this story was intended to form part of "Withdrawal." However RL circumstances dictated that I cut "Withdrawal" short. I was disappointed that I didn't get to write and share this part of the story with you…so here it is, in the form of a sequel.

I have included a recap at the start but, as this story picks up just two weeks after "Withdrawal" ends, you may find it necessary to revisit and re-familiarise yourself with the original story. It contains medical and legal details that I did my best to decipher accurately but please keep in mind that some liberties have been taken to keep the storyline flowing. I hope you enjoy it, L

**NIGHT TIME**

Attorney Cameron Scott parked his BMW in the visitor's parking lot of the Petersburg Federal Correction Institution. Climbing from the driver's seat, he shrugged on his Hugo Boss jacket and used the car window to check his reflection. Openly pleased with his appearance, he opened the back door and removed his briefcase before striding toward the visitor's centre.

He looked around at the large razorwire fence noting that, while it was no doubt under constant surveillance, it was not patrolled, by armed guards. As a minimum security facility, the inmates were mainly non-violent "white collar criminals" and considered to pose little physical risk to the public. Scott smiled at the irony as he thought of his client.

"If only they knew," he muttered.

By and large, the US public knew Thomas Grayson as one of the wealthiest and most respected business entrepreneurs and philanthropists in the country. What was not commonly known was the callous ruthlessness with which Grayson disposed of anyone and anything perceived to be a threat to his business empire. A shrewd and calculating businessman, he had allegedly used his wealth to finance his only son,

Evan, into the illegal drug trade. Though lacking his father's business acumen, Evan had shown surprising guile and confidence in dealing with the highly volatile and street-wise dealers, importers and distributors of the drug underworld and, in just under a year, had made a name for himself as formidable, unforgiving and someone you didn't cross.

Several weeks earlier, Evan unknowingly met and befriended an undercover federal agent, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, who was investigating the distribution of narcotics through the US Navy. When the agent's cover was eventually blown, Evan exacted sadistic requital by injecting the agent with heroin and PCP for days on end before administering a fatal dose. DiNozzo's team arrived in time to save his life and get him to the hospital but several subsequent ill-conceived attempts on the agent's life led to Evan being gunned down and killed in a nighttime raid by NCIS.

With Evan Grayson dead, the evidence garnered by DiNozzo had been enough to have Thomas Grayson arrested on charges ranging from bribing customs officials to suspicion of drug-importation and conspiracy to murder.

Due to Grayson's estate in the Cayman Islands, his significant wealth and the seriousness of the charges against him, JAG prosecutor, Commander Peter Barnes, had successfully argued that he was a likely flight risk and the judge had ordered Grayson be remanded in custody. Consequently, Grayson had traded Armani for olive prison garb and a twenty-room mansion for a twelve by twelve foot cell with communal showers, dining and recreation areas.

Now it was up to Scott to blow the prosecutors case out of the water and free his client. He felt a shot of adrenaline race through his veins and his lips curled in a small grin. The thrill of the chase was exhilarating; discrediting witnesses, challenging evidence, twisting the law in favour of his client - this was why Cameron Scott got paid the big bucks; this is what he lived for.

Entering the visitor's centre he showed his photo ID to the guard, signed the visitor's log and placed his briefcase on the scanning device before being led down the drab corridor to one of the interview rooms. He took a seat and waited for the arrival of the enigmatic and still powerful, Thomas Grayson.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

Returning from his favourite diner, the aroma of the coffee tickled his nostrils and caused his taste buds to tingle with anticipation. The dark grey overcast sky threatened rain and matched his mood as he shrugged deeper into his jacket to ward off the cold.

Was it only three weeks since they'd found Tony barely alive in that abandoned tenement house? Gibbs refused to think what would have happened had they not arrived in time.

Credit for Tony's survival would rightly be attributed to Ducky, the EMT's and the lifesaving treatment and dedication of the medical team at Bethesda Naval Hospital. However, Gibbs knew without doubt that the younger man's dogged determination and will to live were just as crucial.

A cold shiver danced its way down his spine causing him to shudder as he recalled his agent, desperately ill in a hospital bed, undergoing a controversial ultra-rapid detox treatment. He was thankful that Tony would never remember that critical period - he was just as certain that _he_ would never forget.

Somewhat reluctantly, the lead agent had left Tony recuperating in Stillwater under the watchful eye of his father, Jackson Gibbs. Despite the fact that Jackson had seen Tony at his most unprotected and vulnerable, the unlikely pair had forged a relationship seasoned with genuine affection.

Like a persistent mosquito, thoughts of Tony's long and painful recovery buzzed around Gibbs' head and he slapped them away. As much as _NCIS Special Agent Gibbs_ wanted justice to be served, _Jethro Gibbs_ wanted to blow Thomas Grayson to hell for the horror he'd inflicted on his agent. Not for the first time, the two personas battled for his soul.

Passing through the security checkpoint and entering the elevator, he leaned heavily against a wall and attempted to roll the tension from his neck and shoulders. What had initially appeared to be an open and shut case against Thomas Grayson, had developed some serious flaws. In a rush of anger he pounded his fist against the elevator wall as he recalled a meeting from the previous week. He, Director Vance and Commander Barnes were discussing the impending hearing when an anxious McGee burst into the director's office.

_FLASHBACK_

"_Excuse me, Sirs," he said before turning to Gibbs. "Boss, there's a problem with the data Tony retrieved from Evan Grayson's computer." _

"_What kind of problem?" Gibbs asked. _

"_As you know, the data Tony downloaded from Evan Grayson's computer provided the decryption codes we needed to access the payments to customs officials and drug lords," McGee replied. "It was a Cayman Island account in the joint names of Thomas and Evan Grayson and both men had access to it." _

"_And?"_

"_All of the transactions in question were electronic; there were no signatures, no PINs and no cards used to incriminate any one person. We know that payments were made but we can't be certain which one of the Graysons made them."_

"_What about the IP addresses?" Vance asked. "We should be able to match those to Grayson's computers."_

"_That's what I've been trying to do but they used a high anonymity proxy server," McGee replied._

"_McGee!" Gibbs hissed impatiently._

"_Sorry, Boss, it's an encrypted server that hides the original IP addresses. It makes it almost impossible to determine which computer initiated the transactions."_

"_You saying we can't use the data as evidence?" Gibbs asked._

"_We can use it," Commander Barnes replied, "but without irrefutable proof that Thomas Grayson was actively involved, the data will be considered circumstantial at best." _

"_Circumstantial?" Gibbs spat, shooting to his feet and sending his chair crashing to the floor. "DiNozzo nearly died getting that data!"_

"_Commander, how will this affect the hearing?" Vance asked._

"_All Grayson has to do is deny all knowledge of the payments and blame his dead son," the commander replied. "As things stand right now, we can't prove otherwise."_

"_You think he'd do that?" Gibbs asked. "Blame his kid?" _

"_If Grayson is found guilty, he's facing life in a federal penitentiary and stands to lose billions. He'll do whatever it takes."_

_The words plunged the room into rigid shocked silence until Vance found his voice._

"_If we can't make a case with the payments then that leaves the testimonies," he said. "Grayson's word against his nephew, Billy Matthews and DiNozzo's."_

_The commander sighed audibly._

"_I'm concerned about the strength of the testimony from Billy Matthews," he said. "His recollection of times, dates and places are vague and inconsistent. To be honest, unless there's considerable improvement over the next two weeks, Matthews will be more of a liability than an asset." _

"_That just leaves DiNozzo," Vance said turning back to Gibbs. "There's only two weeks to the hearing, you think he'll be ready?"_

"_He'll be ready," Gibbs stated with unshakable certainty._

"_There's something else," the commander said. "Our office received a subpoena to provide the defence with a copy of Tony's personnel file." _

"_Why?" Vance asked._

"_Because the best form of defence is offence," Pete said. "They know that Tony's testimony is crucial – it's his word against Grayson's, so-"_

"_They'll try to discredit DiNozzo," Gibbs growled._

_FLASHBACK ENDS_

Shaking himself from his musings, Gibbs took a long pull of his coffee and felt an ominous stirring in his gut. In just under two weeks, Tony would take the stand at the hearing and Grayson's high price attorney would throw everything at him. But what did the defence attorney want with Tony's personnel file? His arrest record and performance appraisals were first rate and only bolstered Tony's testimony.

The façade of indifference that the former detective utilised to great effect camouflaged a sharp wit and highly intuitive mind that had tripped up some of the sharpest thinkers on both sides of the law. But, currently, Tony was well under par – struggling physically and emotionally with the devastating effects of a narcotics addiction that was forced upon him. The thought of someone coming after his agent kicked his paternal instincts up another few notches.

"Not on my watch," he vowed.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

"No!" Thomas Grayson hissed, rocketing to his feet and stalking to the far side of the small interview room. "I won't do it!"

Attorney Cameron Scott sighed and looked expectedly toward the door as it swung open and the irritated-looking prison guard appeared with his hand resting ominously on his nightstick.

"Sit down, Grayson or I'll take you back to your cell," the guard threatened.

Grayson's jaw clenched, as anger and disdain coiled behind his eyes like a living thing fighting to get out. With unspoken protest he walked back to the table and dropped heavily into the plastic chair.

"It's all right…we're fine," Scott said to the guard as he waived him away.

Underscoring his warning with a menacing look at Grayson, the guard returned to his post outside the door and Scott continued.

"It's the only way, you know that. The feds have got the records of the joint account but there is nothing to indicate which of you initiated the transactions."

"It's not enough that the feds killed my only son, now you want me to deny all knowledge and let Evan take the fall?" Grayson asked incredulously.

"Would you rather fall with him, Thomas, because that's what will happen unless we do this my way?" Scott asked. "Conspiracy to murder and the attempted murder of a federal agent are just the tip of the iceberg. I wouldn't ask if there was any other way."

"What about the witness testimonies?"

"Your nephew Billy Matthews is a junkie with known animosity toward you. His testimony is weak at best."

"And DiNozzo?"

Scott's smiled predatorily.

"By the time I'm finished with him his career will be over."

"Who's leading the prosecution?"

"The Navy commander from the JAG office…Peter Barnes."

"Barnes? I thought you were going to have him recused because of his friendship with DiNozzo?" Grayson asked.

"It was part of the deal," Scott told him. "Barnes stays on as prosecutor and you get to await trail in a private cell of a minimum security penitentiary instead of a dorm in general population. If we insist on Barnes being recused we could end up with someone better. "

"Better than you?" Grayson mocked.

Scott huffed out a laugh.

"Unlikely," he replied arrogantly.

Grayson nodded sullenly, swivelled his head from side to side to ensure their privacy, then leaned forward and whispered.

"Is he here?" he asked, avoiding using the name.

"He's here," Scott replied, his displeasure shown clearly on his face. "I don't like this, Thomas. It's too risky; we don't need him."

"That's not your decision; it's mine," Grayson snapped. "He's been briefed? He knows what to do?"

"Yes, but I don't know how he intends to find the witnesses when the prosecution won't even allow me to depose them. NCIS have them tucked away somewhere. I've had good people tailing Gibbs' team for the past two weeks - wherever they are Gibbs and his team are giving them a wide berth."

"That's why I sent for him. You're being paid to get me acquitted. Leave everything else to him. Wherever they are…he'll find them."

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

Stepping smartly from the elevator and into the forensics lab, the notable absence of blaring music was immediately obvious. Frowning, Gibbs continued through the cavernous room in search of the forensic specialist. The glass sliding doors separated with a hiss bringing an abrupt end to the hushed conversation between Abby, Ziva and McGee who startled nervous at his sudden appearance.

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed almost jumping out of her skin and wrapping him in a hug.

"Something going on?" the lead agent asked, handing her a Caf-Pow and eyeballing his agents.

"Um…no!" Abby offered. "That is, unless you're asking did we find anything new about the case, in which case the answer would also…be…no."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as his agents mirrored Abby's expression of guilt and he instantly decided he didn't want to know.

"What's happening with tracing the computers?" the lead agent asked McGee.

"I'm…er…designing a program that should decrypt the data protecting the IP addresses," McGee replied. "Once we've identified the computers we can allocate the transactions and prove who made the payments."

"How long?"

"Boss?"

"How long will it take?" Gibbs asked.

The younger man's shoulders slumped in an obvious sign of his dejection and frustration.

"If it works at all, there are literally hundreds of thousands of possible permutations that could-" he sighed audibly. "It could take weeks."

"Tony hasn't got weeks, McGee!"

"I know that, Boss."

"Stay on it," Gibbs instructed with a rare pat of encouragement on his agent's back.

He rubbed a hand across his brow, fingers pressing hard to dispel a brewing headache and turned to Ziva.

"You interview the two customs officials we busted at the pier?" he asked.

"I did as Commander Barnes suggested and offered a reduced sentence if they testified against Thomas Grayson."

"And?"

"Both were willing to cooperate and admitted having direct contact with both Evan and Thomas Grayson but…" Ziva took a deep breath and continued, "when I asked them to pick Thomas Grayson's likeness from a selection of photographs, one selected the NCIS janitor who retired to Hawaii last year, while the other selected a photograph of…Alec Baldwin."

"I _love_ Alec Baldwin," Abby gushed before a look from the lead agent curbed her enthusiasm. "But that's _so_ not important right now."

"Neither of the photos selected bore any likeness to Thomas Grayson," Ziva continued. "It is doubtful either of these men had any direct contact with him."

"Ya think?"

Gibbs took another long pull of his coffee to quell his frustration.

"How many more witnesses?"

"Just the two petty officers from the USS Enterprise," McGee responded. "They're coming in by helo and scheduled to arrive at Anacostia at fourteen hundred."

"We'll be there," Gibbs said. "Meanwhile, go over everything again. If we can't use the data we'll need another witness to back up Tony's testimony."

"Surely you do not believe the judge will take Grayson's word over Tony's," Ziva stated.

"I want nothing left to chance. DiNozzo has enough to worry about without this entire case weighing on his testimony."

Turning to leave, Gibbs caught movement in his peripheral vision as McGee gestured wildly to Abby.

"Something else, McGee?" he asked.

"Um…no, Boss, but…er…Abby has something she'd like to ask you."

"Abs?"

Caught by surprise, Abby stood stock still, her green eyes wide as saucers as her extraordinary mind searched for the words she needed.

"Yes, Gibbs?"

"You need something?"

The forensic specialist sighed audibly.

"I need to know about Tony," she quietly insisted. "You haven't told us how he's doing for days now and we know you miss him. That is, in your typical understated, stoic, I'd-rather-have-my-fingernails-pulled-than-admit-it kind of way."

"You draw the short straw, Abs?" he asked, watching as McGee suddenly found the ceiling fascinating and Ziva examined her shoes.

"Gibbs!" Abby protested with feigned innocence. "I'm hurt you would think we would do such a thing. There were absolutely positively no drawn straws!"

Gibbs raised a sceptical eyebrow and Abby caved.

"Okay…it was rock, paper, scissors…and only because we're really, really worried about Tony. It's just not the same around here without him."

"Abby is right, Gibbs," Ziva joined in. "We understand that you have been focussed on preparing for the hearing but we have not heard how Tony is for several days now. We are…concerned."

A long moment passed as he examined the anxious faces before him. For all their petty squabbling and their quirky idiosyncrasies his team possessed a staunch loyalty and strong sense of family. When one was in trouble, the others invariably circled the wagons.

"I'm on my way to see Ducky," he said. "I'll call him when I'm done."

"And you'll tell him we miss him?" Abby added.

He leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"He knows, Abs." he replied over his shoulder as he left the room.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

Returning to the elevator, Gibbs gave free rein to the raging anger that burned inside him. With everything his agent had been through, the case against Grayson appeared to be coming apart at the seams. Now there was the added pressure of the entire case riding on Tony's testimony.

With the MCRT working extraordinarily long hours, it had been several days since the former Marine had spoken more than a few words with his father and he was anxious for a more comprehensive progress report on his agent. He checked his watch, noting it was nearly zero ten hundred and decided he would check in with Ducky and call his Dad for an update.

The shrill of a ring tone resonated in the small space and he snatched his cell from his jacket pocket, held it at arm's length and squinted at the display. A sudden feeling of cold dread formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Dad?" he said, his calm tone belying his concern.

"_I'm telling ya, son, that boy is just too darn stubborn for his own good!"_ Jackson exclaimed, his exasperation palpable.

"Dad, slow down." he replied, repeatedly pushing the button to the autopsy level. "What happened? Where's Tony?"

"_Where he's been for the past three hours – out like a light on the couch,"_ Jackson stated.

"Three hours? Is he sick?"

"_Well, of course he's sick, Leroy, that's why you brought him here!"_ Jackson sniped before taking a deep calming breath. _"I'm sorry, son. We had a bad night…guess I'm a little cranky."_

Arriving on the lower level Gibbs squeezed through the narrow gap of the opening doors and rushed into the autopsy room. He located the elderly ME examining x-rays on the viewing boxes and hurried to his side. Ducky turned toward his friend, his welcoming smile faded as he noticed Gibbs' anxious expression.

"Oh my, what has happened?" he uttered.

Placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, Gibbs drew him closer and returned to the call.

"Dad, I'm here with Ducky, I'm gonna put you on speaker."

"Good morning, Jackson!" Ducky's cultured British accent resonated down the phone line.

"_Morning, Doc, don't mean to worry you none but the boy's got me about as anxious as I ever hope to be."_

Ducky looked at the concern etched into the face of the lead agent.

"Yes, there appears to be a lot of that going around," he replied. "Tell me, what has Anthony done to cause all this fuss?"

In the silence that followed Gibbs and Ducky exchanged worried glances.

From his position in the store, Jackson ducked his head around the doorway and looked through into the darkened living room. The morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains but offered enough suffused light to give Jackson a clear view of Tony's body sprawled loosely on the well-worn couch; one leg dangling over the edge and one arm covering his eyes.

"Dad? Dad, you there?" Gibbs asked.

"_Still here, Leroy. Just checking to make sure the coast was clear."_

From the moment Gibbs and Tony arrived at LJ's remote cabin, Jackson witnessed the agonising physical and mental torment of the younger man's forced addiction. Ducky had spoken with Jackson at length about the side effects of the Methadone substitute Subutex, as Tony's body tried to adjust to the narcotic replacement therapy.

"Jackson, can you tell me what has happened?" Ducky asked.

"_Well, Doc, you told me the boy would have good and bad days," _Jackson replied with a sigh that came all the way from his boots. "_Guess I underestimated how darn bad they could be."_

He'd lost count of the number of times in the past few weeks, that Tony had twisted awake in the grip of a nightmare while his muscles wracked in unbearable tear-producing spasms. The younger man had alternated between sweats and chills; drowsiness and insomnia; blinding headaches and nausea, while Jack tried desperately to soothe away the night terrors with only his staunch support and the quiet rasp of his voice.

"It is an unfortunate fact that, in their own way, the effects of the Subutex can be almost as debilitating as the narcotic itself…however, I get the feeling that isn't what has you so upset," Ducky stated.

"Dad? Something happen?" Gibbs asked.

The silence stretched agonisingly until Jackson spoke again.

"_These last few days, the boy's been different; angry, moody, impatient – he hasn't said anything but I reckon he just wants to go home, back to his life."_

"Yes, I thought this may be a problem," Ducky said shaking his head ruefully. "Anthony has a history of returning to work earlier than recommended. But this time, there will be no negotiation. As I told Anthony, it may be months before he's fit to return to light duties."

"_Seems he wasn't listening, Doc. While I was closing the store last evening the boy took himself for a darn run!"_

"A run?" Ducky blustered. "Good Lord, it's far too soon for him to begin anything other than gentle exercising. Any rigorous exertion can exacerbate withdrawal symptoms. Not to mention the fact that he has two broken ribs that need more time to heal!"

"_I hear ya, Doc. When I realised he was gone I drove around looking for him...found him puking half a mile down the road. He barely recognized me. I got him home but we had one heck of a night."_

"I'm gonna kick his ass!" Gibbs growled in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his concern.

"_You might wanna hold off on that, son, cause there's something else…he's started to skip his meds."_

"You sure?" Gibbs asked.

"Anthony has rushed his recoveries before but he knows better than to do something so foolhardy," Ducky stated.

"_I'm not proud of this, but…I counted his pills. Yesterday, there were twenty-three left in the bottle. By my reckoning, there should only be twelve."_

"This is not good," Ducky exclaimed. "Any premature attempt to begin the step-down phase of his medication could lead to withdrawal. Subutex requires a very strict regime to be effective and can be very dangerous if it is ignored."

Gibbs cursed under his breath and carded his fingers through his hair.

"Get him packed, Dad. I'll drive up and bring him back with me tonight."

"_You'll do no such thing!" _Jackson replied._ "Truth is, son, good days or bad, Tony and I have been getting along just fine. I shouldn't have called...I reckon he just gave us both a heck of a scare. He's finally sleeping – let him be."_

"You did exactly the right thing, Jackson," Ducky said. "Anthony really should see a medical practitioner as soon as he wakes. I'd be more than willing to speak with the local doctor, give him details of Anthony's medical history and set up the appointment."

"_Already tried that, Doc, the boy refused point blank. Says he doesn't want word to get around Stillwater that I've got an addict as a houseguest. Tried to talk him out of it but this young fella could give stubborn lessons to a mule."_

"Be that as it may, Anthony needs medical attention. Jethro is quite right; perhaps I should get my medical bag and accompany him…."

"_That won't be necessary. Just before he fell asleep he agreed to see Doc Murphy in Scranton. We have an appointment booked for seven o'clock tonight."_

"Scranton's fifty miles away, Dad."

"_I know that, Leroy, but it was the only way the boy would agree to go," _Jackson replied._ "Sam and Mavis are going to close the store for me tonight. Don't worry, son, I'll see he gets to the doc."_

"Dad, I…I should've known he…"

"_Now you listen to me, son," _Jackson said firmly._ "Helping that young fella is the first thing you've asked of me in nearly 20 years. I want to do this for Tony…but I __**need**__ to do this for us. You do what you have to for family."_

A moment passed before Gibbs managed to speak around the large lump that had formed in his throat.

"I'll call ya tonight," he said, "and Dad..."

"I know, son, I know," Jackson replied gently.

Gibbs closed the cell then pushed the heels of his hands against his tired eyes and cursed softly.

"Dammit, Tony!"

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

A/N JAG Officer, Commander Peter Barnes, is a recurring character created for my story What Lies Beneath. He also appears in Withdrawal.

A/N Three years late but we're underway. Unlike previous stories, this one is far from finished and will be posted progressively as RL permits. Hope you'll bear with me.

With every good wish, L


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

A/N Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the storyline flowing.

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Two**

Jackson cracked open a bloodshot eye as another indistinct murmur drew him from his light sleep. Adjusting the glasses that were balancing precariously on the end of his nose, he squinted at the clock on the far wall and realised it was almost 5PM.

Earlier that morning, he had called his good friends, Mavis and Sam Newbury, and asked if they would watch the store for an hour that evening while he drove Tony to his doctor's appointment in Scranton. The Newburys not only agreed but had arrived within the hour - Mavis armed with homemade bread and soup. After taking one look at Jackson's worried face, Mavis insisted that he stay with Tony while she and Sam tended the store. True to their nature, the couple didn't ask any questions about the younger man's obvious poor health or why Scranton's doctor was favoured over the Stillwater practitioner.

From his favourite overstuffed armchair, Jackson watched with undisguised concern as Tony muttered incoherently but slept on. It was now seven hours since he had fallen into an exhausted sleep after a harrowing night neither of them hoped to ever experience again. His skin was wet and clammy and the ends of his hair darkened with sweat as he breathed in short, loud gasps. On the floor in a discarded pile, lay the afghan Jackson had placed over him just an hour before when shivers wracked his body and the sound of his chattering teeth filled the quiet room. The chills and sweats had alternated frequently and even as he slept, Tony's brow furrowed deeply and his body jerked as it endured painful muscle spasms.

"What the heck were you thinking, son?" he whispered as Tony shifted restlessly.

He cursed his own lack of foresight; Tony had been growing more restless and impatient every day, wanting to do far more than his body was physically able. Leroy and Ducky had both warned him that the younger man would rush his recovery. He understood, to a point, that Tony wasn't being foolhardy as much as he was desperately trying to wrestle back control of his own life. Jackson cast his mind back to the evening before and the sickening rush of fear when he realised Tony had gone out for a run.

_FLASHBACK_

_He'd found him in the park on his hands and knees and throwing up violently until the muscles in his abdomen calmed, simply because they lacked the strength to contract again. He collapsed onto the grass; confused, distressed, his chest heaving from the exertion and his t-shirt soaked with sweat. His green eyes silently pleaded for help and, without hesitation, the older man held out his hand. Tony stared at it for a long moment before tentatively taking hold. As Jack hauled him upright and tugged one arm over his shoulders, the younger man flinched at the unexpected close contact before leaning in to the comfort. _

_Jackson muscled them both to a nearby park bench where they sat silently trying to regain their breath. For a fleeting moment, Jackson thought about tearing a strip off him but he knew Tony's own miserable discomfort was punishment enough...at least for now. Drowning in humiliation and despair even the strong arms supporting him provided no solace as Tony bit down on a desolate sob, denying it life._

_"Easy there, young fella, I gotcha," Jack whispered, rocking them both back and forth in the age-old rhythm of comfort._

"_I can't do this, Jack…I can't." The younger man's voice caught and dwindled to a raw whisper._

_"Yes, you can," Jack assured him looking into Tony's tormented face with gentle intensity. "You think Leroy would have left you here with me if he thought for one minute that you couldn't get through this? Now you listen to me…I'm not about to sit back and watch you give up when you fought so darn hard to stay alive. You hear me, Tony?" _

_Tony's Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled for control and, when words continued to fail him, he nodded his head in reply._

"_Okay…" Jackson continued. "I think we've both had enough exercise for one day, don't you? Let's get you home." _

_With great difficulty Jackson managed to get his young guest back to the house and a hellish night of severe headaches, cramps and nausea began. Tony's mood deteriorated as the night dragged on, fluctuating between stubborn belligerence and shame-filled remorse. Agitation and restless leg syndrome had him pacing the floor one minute and curled up in unbearable pain the next as his muscles constricted cruelly._

_He itched as though a million tiny insects were crawling through his body and it was all he could do not to tear his skin open with his fingernails. As darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, a seductive black void called to him and he longed to fall into it. Fatigue attempted to claim him several times during the night but images of Evan Grayson and syringes lurked beyond the darkness and led to terrifying nightmares. The excruciating cycle played over and over until 7AM the following morning when, physically and mentally drained, Tony finally succumbed to exhaustion._

_END FLASHBACK_

Soft footsteps from behind him drew Jackson back to the here and now. He turned to see Mavis Newbury enter the living room. Her course grey hair was fashioned into a loose bun at the back of her head and she wiped her hands on her apron. Her face, thin and not much lined, was of the sort that aged gracefully and at almost seventy years of age she bore her years well.

"There's a bad storm coming," she said quietly. "If you're going to be in Scranton by seven you'll need to wake him, Jack."

"I'll give him a few more minutes," Jackson replied.

He watched as Mavis moved closer to the couch and reached for the afghan Tony had kicked to the floor. She silently appraised the ailing man as she folded the afghan and placed it on the foot of the couch. It had been thirty years since she and Sam lost their only son James to a drug overdose. Mavis took in the dark crescent-shaped smudges under Tony's eyes and his sickly pallor. Despite the breeze from the open window, the odour of sweat and sickness hung thickly in the air.

"Seems the boy picked up a bad case of stomach flu," Jackson said, not quite sure whether the small lie was to protect Tony or Mavis.

With slightly arthritic fingers she brushed the sweaty bangs from Tony's forehead and placed the back of her hand against his cheek to gauge his temperature. Holding back the tears of a mother who outlived her only child, she met Jackson's gaze with knowing eyes that held no judgement, only sadness and understanding.

"He needs to eat," she said quietly as she walked to the kitchen. "You wake him, I'll warm the soup."

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

As the agents walked quickly to their sedan at Anacostia Naval Station, the atmosphere was as ominous as the threatening skies above. Gibbs, McGee and Ziva had just spent the better part of two hours questioning two petty officers charged with distributing illicit drugs aboard the USS Enterprise.

Neither of the sailors had any direct contact with theGraysons. CWO Louis Farrell, formerly of the Navy Supply Corps, had been their supplier and he had been murdered at the warehouse moments after blowing Tony's cover.

McGee had successfully traced the payments received by the sailors to the Grayson's Cayman Island account but due to the high anonymity proxy server they were still no closer to knowing which of the Grayson had initiated the transactions.

Gibbs' frustration level peaked when it became obvious that the sailors could not testify to Thomas Grayson's involvement.

"We need that decryption, McGee," he said.

"Boss, I've done everything I can to maximise the speed of the search without losing the integrity of the program."

"Do more," the team leader replied, certain that his IT Specialist would once again pull an all-singing, all-dancing rabbit out of his hat.

"Do you think Tony will be well enough to testify?" Ziva asked as they arrived at the car.

"He'll be fine," Gibbs replied, as much to reassure himself as his teammates.

Under normal circumstances, Gibbs was certain his agent could hold his own. Since their first encounter on the streets of Baltimore, the former Marine could recall countless times when Tony had reached deep within himself and tapped an inner reserve of strength to get the job done. As the rain began in earnest, he hoped like hell that this was one of those times.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

Sheet lightning lit the darkening sky as the wind tossed rain at them in waves. Jackson slowed the truck to a safer speed and cast another covert glance at his passenger. Tony sat staring vacantly out of the window, seeing nothing and drained beyond thought.

Still wrapped in the afghan Mavis had insisted he take to keep warm, the younger man was unusually quiet. After the torment of the previous night, the tremors and muscle spasms seemed more sporadic but his streaming eyes and nose continued to irritate him. He sniffed loudly and swiped a handkerchief across his face.

Even in the soft glow of the dashboard lights, Jackson noted the shadows bruising his young friend's eyes and the lines around his mouth testified to just how much discomfort Tony was in. He held a bottle of water in front of Tony's face.

"Keep drinking," he instructed gently.

Without meeting the older man's gaze, Tony compliantly took the bottle with shaking fingers. Jackson suppressed a yell of frustration at the latest setback that had left the young agent a shadow of the man he was gradually getting to know. Dismissing the dark thoughts from his mind, Jackson focussed on the few days when Tony appeared to be gaining the upper hand in his recovery.

Woven between the sickness and misery they had experienced some enjoyable evenings watching sport or an old black and white movie on TV. He'd been surprised by Tony's love of the old classics and they'd often attempted to stump each other with movie trivia.

When he felt up to it, Tony would help Jackson in the store; sweeping up, organising the storeroom, stacking shelves or helping the customers carry their groceries to their cars. Jackson watched bemused as his female customers of all ages and marital status went weak at the knees at the sight of his new box boy with the Hollywood smile.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward as his stomach contracted in nauseous spasms. He pulled his knees to his chest as the pain intensified and a moan escaped from between tightly clenched teeth.

"Tony?" Jackson said slowing the truck. "You need me to pull over, son?"

"No…I'm okay," Tony huffed, waving him off with one hand while the other tightly clutched his aching ribs. "Just…just give me a minute."

After a long moment, the pain subsided and Tony sagged against the back of the seat, perspiring and breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he managed, still unable to make eye contact. "Sorry for last night…for the last few weeks…for all of this."

"No need to apologise, son," the older man replied. "None of this is your fault."

"I think I should leave…go back to DC," Tony argued quietly. "I can't keep asking you to do this."

"Don't recall you asking me to do anything. I asked you to stay and you've been a big help to me in the store." Jackson chuckled softly as he gave Tony a sideways glance. "Besides…even crotchety old Florence Dibble, the scourge of Stillwater, has been a lot easier to deal with since you've been here…you have quite a way with the ladies, young fella."

Tony huffed out a laugh laced with bitterness.

"Family trait…ask any one of my stepmothers about the DiNozzo charm."

They drove on in silence watching as the windshield wipers struggled against the torrential rain. Unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, Jackson spoke up.

"I don't mean to pry, son, and feel free to tell me to mind my own business…but I'm wondering why your own father isn't here when you need him?"

"My father has never been where I needed him to be. Why start now?" he snapped, the words slipping from his mouth before he could censor them.

Jack's concerned glance prompted further explanation from Tony.

"We're not close, especially since my Mom died," Tony shrugged nonchalantly but the older man didn't miss the flickering of hurt in his eyes. "It's really no big deal. He is who he is…being a good dad just wasn't his strong suit."

"Being a single dad isn't easy, Tony," Jackson said. "Lord knows I made my share of mistakes."

"You ever leave your 12 year old kid in a hotel in Maui for two days while you chased a piece of rich tail back to the mainland?" he asked tersely. "Of course you didn't. You put your family first, Jack. You even quit your job as a pilot and went to work in the mines."

"Mining is good honest work. You wouldn't find a better breed of men than miners," Jackson replied. "I did what I did to support my family until LJ and I had saved enough money to buy the store."

"My Dad sent me away to school or to camp - there was always another business deal to finalise or a new wife to meet," Tony said quietly. "One day I realised that I was doing okay on my own and I didn't want or need anyone else."

"Until you met Leroy," Jackson stated plainly.

The silence between them grew longer and just as Jackson thought the conversation was over, Tony continued.

"Gibbs is…he's this weird mix of boss, father, brother and friend. Sometimes he's more of one than the others. This may sound crazy…and maybe it is, but I can tell what role he's playing by the way he slaps the back of my head."

"Yep, sure sounds crazy to me," Jack replied with a chuckle.

"He knew before I did that I needed someone to watch my six," Tony shrugged as an affectionate smile formed on his face. "He trusts me. Lets me do things my way but pulls me into line if I stray too far off track."

"With a head slap," Jackson stated as Tony shrugged again.

"Shows he cares," Tony replied quietly. "He's there when I need him, Jack."

Tony's face heated at the uncharacteristic soliloquy. He searched the older man's face but found nothing but understanding.

"The most valuable thing you can give your family is the gift of your time," Jack said, noting that the rain was starting to ease. "Of course Leroy might argue that I spent a little too _much _time watching over him… that boy of mine never went looking for trouble but he was never one to walk away when he found it."

Another cramp bit cruelly into Tony's left thigh and Jackson silently cursed the pain that denied the younger man any solace. Tony kneaded the muscle with his long fingers until it relaxed and the pain ceased.

Jackson placed a strong hand on Tony's shoulder and tried to ignore the tremors.

"Tony," he said. "When you get to my age, if you can look back on your life without regret, you have one of life's most precious gifts."

"A loving family?"

"Nope…a selective memory," he replied with laughter sparkling in his blue eyes.

A trembling smile graced Tony's features and then faded almost instantly.

"Jack…I appreciate everything you've done…really…but I still think I should go back to DC."

As the lightning streaked across the restless sky, Tony flicked nervous eyes in Jack's direction to gauge his reaction.

"I'm a man of my word, Tony," Jackson said. "I told Leroy that my home was yours for as long as you need it and that offer still stands."

"But-"

"What say you hold off making any decisions till after you've seen the doc? Deal?"

Jackson met the younger man's gaze. Tony nodded his head and as his voice caught in this throat.

"Deal," he whispered.

"Besides," Jackson said. "We're only two discs into our golden years of Hollywood box set and I'm looking forward to seeing my pin-up girl, Betty Grable. I ever tell ya that I had a likeness of Betty painted on the nose of my P-51?"

The two men sighed wistfully then said in unison...

"Great gams!"

Their easy laughter broke the tension as they continued on their way to Scranton, unaware of the dark SUV that followed behind.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

Gibbs' gut was churning and for the second time that day the ring of his cell sent his stomach into free-fall. Realising the number on the caller ID was not his father's he allowed himself a moment's relief before pressing the answer button and clenching the cell between his chin and his shoulder.

"Gibbs," he answered returning both hands to the wheel.

"Where are you?" Vance asked curtly.

"On our way back to the yard. Something wrong?"

"The protection detail at the safe house missed their last scheduled check in," the director stated grimly.

In the passenger seat McGee's hands shot out reflexively to grab the console as Gibbs put the sedan into a tight u-turn and sped off in the direction of the safe house.

"How late are they?" Gibbs asked.

"Only fifteen minutes but we can't reach them."

"When was their last check in?"

"Six hours ago," Vance replied.

"No one was supposed to know their location," Gibbs growled.

"No one did," Vance insisted. "We kept this thing wrapped tight."

"Not tight enough."

"Patterson's team are en route, they're ten minutes out."

"We'll be there in five," Gibbs said, cursing loudly as the car in front braked hard for no apparent reason.

"If our security's been breached, you need to give DiNozzo a head's up," Vance replied. "Keep me informed."

Gibbs tossed his cell to McGee who juggled it several times before taking the catch.

"Call the store," he said. "Put it on speaker."

McGee thumbed through the programmed numbers, ignoring the urge to rub his shoulder as the g-force of another sharp corner threw him against the door. In the back, Ziva folded down the split rear seat and reached into the trunk for the Kevlar vests, earwigs and com-links.

"It's ringing, Boss," McGee said placing the call on speaker.

"Hello, General Store," the pleasant female voice answered.

"Mavis?" Gibbs said. "Mavis it's Jethro. I need to speak with Jack."

"Jethro dear, how lovely to hear your voice!" she gushed. "I'm afraid you've missed him. Jack's taking Tony to see the doctor in Scranton. I'm not sure why they just didn't have Doc Andrews make a house call but you know your Dad - once he makes up his mind there's no changing it."

"When did they leave?" Gibbs called down the line.

"About thirty minutes ago, give or take. They left a little early because of the storm. I told him to wait until tomorrow but Tony wasn't feeling well. He's such a nice boy, I wish there was-"

"Mavis, I have to go…give Sam my regards." He nodded to McGee who disconnected the call.

"Calling Tony's cell," McGee anticipated as he keyed the speed dial number.

As the sedan ducked and weaved along the highway, swerving in and out between slow moving vehicles, they listened to the ringing cell, silently urging Tony to pick-up and unable to hide their surprise when a familiar female voice answered.

"Mavis?" Gibbs said.

"Jethro?"

"You have Tony's cell?"

"I heard it ringing from the store," she explained. "It was in the pocket of his jacket. Three times I told that boy not to forget his jacket, especially in this weather, but…oh my, I hope he doesn't need these."

"Need what?" he asked as a chill of apprehension rippled across his skin.

"Jethro, Tony left his medication behind."

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

Thomas Grayson eyed the prison guard with disdain as he passed through the last checkpoint and was led down the corridor toward the private interview room. Although attorneys were not restricted to normal prison visiting hours, this visit was unscheduled…something had happened.

The guard opened the door and Grayson entered, taking a seat across the table from his attorney and waiting until the guard left the room before he spoke.

"Well?"

"The petition to have you released on your own recognisance was denied," Cameron Scott said plainly.

"I thought you said you could get me out of here?" the older man growled.

"I can…but I won't…not right now anyway," Scott replied. "The judge turned down my petition to have you released but he agreed to move the hearing forward. That's as good as acknowledging he has doubts about the prosecution's case against you."

"Then why won't he release me?"

"He probably would have if I'd appealed," Scott stated.

"So appeal!" Grayson ordered. "Get me the hell out of here!"

"I know you want to get out of here, Thomas, but you need to listen to me," Scott said. "I told you we didn't need 'him' but I followed your orders when you said you wanted him to handle things. You need to stay right here – at least until '_he'_ has finished what he came here to do."

"He'll finish it," Grayson said confidently. "And DiNozzo will pay for the death of my son. How long to the hearing?"

Cameron Scott leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together behind his head and smiled smugly; his over-whitened teeth clashed starkly against his over-tanned skin.

"Three days," he said. "If he's half as good as you say and he gets the job done, the prosecution's case will collapse and there won't be any need for a hearing."

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

"Boss, Abby called the clinic in Scranton," McGee said. "Tony's appointment isn't until nineteen hundred. They'll have Tony or your dad call as soon as they arrive."

"They still have fifteen minutes, Gibbs," Ziva said from the backseat, already geared up and cleaning her Sig with practised precision. "I am sure they are fine and still making their way to Scranton."

Gibbs caught her grim expression in the rear view mirror and knew she thought otherwise. He cast a sidewise glance as McGee shrugged into his vest and saw the same concern etched on the younger man's face.

With a series of speed-shifts and high-speed turns Gibbs eked every ounce of horsepower from the sedan as they headed for the semi-remote duplex NCIS had leased as a safe house.

After the previous attempt on Matthews' life and the loss of an agent on Balboa's team, they'd taken extra precautions to keep the details and location of the safe house as "need to know." They'd leased both sides of a duplex that was located in the suburbs; it was nondescript yet functional; close enough to neighbouring properties to not be considered remote, yet far enough away to be defendable and private.

A team of four highly experienced agents were assigned to Matthews' protection detail 24/7, working twelve hours shifts in two man teams. When not working, the off-duty team relaxed and slept in the adjoining apartment while the on-duty team were stationed with one patrolling the exterior and one by Matthews' side.

Other than the protection team, only Commander Barnes, Vance and Gibbs knew the location of the safe house and the fact that the team had missed its last check-in meant something had gone desperately wrong. As the sedan rounded the last corner and approached the duplex, Gibbs reduced speed and killed the lights.

"Boss," McGee said anxiously as Agent Harper staggered from the building dragging his partner.

"I see them," Gibbs said bringing the car to a halt. "Ziva, take the back, McGee you're with me."

Smoothly slipping into his Kevlar, Gibbs drew his Sig Sauer and with McGee by his side, ran at a crouch to where the agents had collapsed on the front lawn. Gibbs continued to scan the area for any hint of danger as McGee kneeled by the stricken men and checked for vital signs.

"They're alive, Boss," McGee said. "They don't appear to be wounded but they've passed out."

"Call it in. Tell dispatch we've got agents down. Make sure the EMT's wait till they get the all clear."

"On it."

Behind him Agent Harper began retching and vomited frothy bile as McGee rolled him onto his side. Adrenalin surged through Gibbs' body putting his senses on high alert. He took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and threw them to McGee.

"Ziva, report," he said gruffly into the com-link.

"Gibbs, I have located Agent Young," the Israeli replied in a hushed tone. "He is dead. His neck is broken."

"Dammit!" Gibbs cursed.

"There is something else," she replied quietly. "A small canister has been spliced into the air conditioning unit."

"Is it labelled?" he asked anxiously.

"It is not," she replied.

"Calling Hazmat, Boss," McGee anticipated, reaching for his cell.

"Ziva, get back here," the team leader instructed before turning back to McGee. "Stay with Harper and Riley - do what you can for them."

"Boss, you're not going in there?" he said casting an anxious look as Agent Harper continued to retch and moan while Riley remained unconscious.

"We got people unaccounted for," Gibbs replied, taking his handkerchief from his pocket to hold over his nose and mouth. "The canister was used to debilitate not kill."

"Boss, it was unmarked," McGee insisted. "Whatever was in it could be deadly."

Ziva returned from the back of the duplex.

"Gibbs is right," she said, eyeing the stricken agents. "If the contents were meant to kill, they would already be dead."

"Stay here; both of you," Gibbs ordered, shutting down any further argument and walking toward the building.

With his weapon held steadily in his free hand Gibbs entered the duplex and quickly cleared the rooms used by the off-duty team. Locating the connecting door, he cautiously entered the living room of the adjoining apartment, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly as the residual substance irritated his eyes and throat.

Through watery vision he located the body of Billy Matthews, slumped lifelessly on the couch. The small bullet wound at his right temple was in stark contrast to the bloody mess of skull fragments and grey matter that had once formed the left side of the young man's head.

Entering the dining area, Gibbs stomach clenched at the sight before him. The body of Agent Gary Wallace was slumped in a chair to which he was securely tied. His face had been badly beaten and, like Billy Matthews, Wallace had sustained a gunshot wound to his temple. On the nearby table lay a small discarded oxygen cylinder, a syringe and an ampule.

A myriad of emotions pumped furiously through the former Marine's veins. The fury and loss of more good men battled for dominance over the relief he felt that Tony had refused to stay at the safe-house. His senior field officer was adamant that none of his colleagues witness his struggle against the effects of the narcotic replacement therapy. Reluctantly Gibbs had agreed, knowing it was highly unlikely that Grayson would look for Tony in Stillwater.

"Gibbs!" Ziva's worried voice hissed through his earwig.

"Clear," the team leader growled.

Moments later his agents appeared at the door; both brandishing their weapons. They entered the room and stood at his side in shocked silence.

"Oh God," McGee finally whispered then coughed as the dissipating gaseous substance irritated his throat.

"He was interrogated," Ziva stated with the calmness of someone long accustomed to the sight of brutality. "The oxygen was used to revive him and the injection was to make him talk."

"Why Wallace and not Matthews?" McGee asked. "It was Matthews they wanted."

"What did Agent Wallace know that Matthews did not?" Ziva added.

It took half a second for the truth to hit and Ziva and McGee saw a flash of raw anguish before Gibbs' eyes went dark and flat as granite.

"DiNozzo's location."

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-**

**A/N Many thanks for the very kind reviews and good wishes. Also to those I could not respond to personally. L**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

A/N Last year, I had the pleasure to co-write two NCIS stories with one of my favourite authors and people, Zee Viate. These stories (Legends & Legacies and Haunted) are completed and have now been re-posted under Zee Viate's pen name. If you'd like to read them, a link can be found in my profile. L

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Three**

Tony slumped heavily against the seat, his chest heaving from the exertion of another painful muscle spasm.

"That's enough," Jackson scolded mildly. "Makes no sense to suffer like this when you can take something for the pain."

Nodding in silent compliance, Tony wiped the light sweat from his face and reached around for his jacket. He frowned and checked the floor of the cab when he couldn't find it.

"Don't tell me…" Jack said.

"Must have left it on the couch," Tony replied sheepishly.

"Did you happen to notice that it's raining buckets out there?" Jackson asked in a tone reminiscent of his son.

Another crack of thunder followed on the heels of a jagged streak of lightning. Tony's shoulders drooped and he pulled the afghan tighter around his body looking miserable and exhausted. Jackson blew out a long frustrated breath; he had been so anxious to get Tony into the truck that even he hadn't noticed the jacket had been left behind.

"Don't suppose it matters," he said quietly. "We'll be in Scranton soon enough and the doc can give you something. Get some rest, son, I'll wake you when we get close."

Shrugging further into the afghan Tony leaned his head against the window and watched the rivulets of rain race each other down the glass until his eyes closed of their own volition and he drifted into a light doze. His body continued to shiver as it struggled to maintain its heat and Jackson adjusted the temperature in the cab, mindless of his own comfort.

Peering at the road ahead through the build-up of condensation on the windshield, Jackson was starting to regret taking the more scenic PA-118 over US-11 or even I-81. Although the routes were comparable in distance, PA-118's road surface was inferior and less traveled than the others. He told himself that Tony would enjoy the sight of open fields and picturesque woodlands after being cooped up in the house for weeks. But the storm and darkness that had quickly descended upon them did not lend themselves to sightseeing and the younger man was certainly in no condition to admire the stunning Pennsylvanian scenery.

If he were truthful with himself, Jackson would admit that he preferred PA-118 not for its pictorial splendour but for the memories it evoked. Ricketts Glen State Park was where he'd shared his love of the outdoors with his young son and they had spent many weekends there camping, hiking and canoeing.

Jackson's blood ran cold as he recalled the time they'd argued over the darn rifle and eleven-year-old Leroy left their campsite in a huff and stomped into the woods. Knowing they both needed to blow off steam, Jack let him go but grew worried after thirty minutes when the boy had not returned. Leroy had become lost with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Park rangers and volunteers had suspended the search when night fell and Jack spent sleepless hours praying to whatever Gods were out there that his boy would be found alive. Just after daybreak the next morning the hunting dogs had tracked the boy to a small cave where they found him asleep by a fire he'd started himself and with his belly full of wild yams, porcini mushrooms and wild raspberries foraged from nearby. He'd proved himself quite a woodsman. Despite that one terrifying night, their times spent together in Ricketts Glen State Park were among Jackson's most cherished memories. Of course, he could've done without the countless arguments over the Winchester.

"Tell a kid he can't have a rifle and he grows up to be a sniper," Jackson muttered as Tony shifted restlessly and murmured in his sleep.

"Rest easy, son, we'll have you at the doc's before you know it."

In the distance, the dark SUV accelerated and began to close the gap between them.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

By the time the agents had emerged from the duplex, Agents Harper and Riley had been whisked away in a specially fitted Hazmat ambulance bound for the decontamination unit of Bethesda Naval Hospital. In an extraordinary show of proficiency that would rival the best military units, the Hazmat team had unpacked and erected their equipment. Blinking through the brightness and glare of the floodlights, the scene before them resembled a lunar landscape as a dozen people in cumbersome level A Hazmat suits went about their business.

"Gibbs!"

The lead agent turned as two Hazmat-suited figures made their way toward him. Squinting his reddened eyes he recognised the face of team leader, Agent Seth Patterson.

"Where's Wallace?" Patterson asked.

"Dead; Matthews, too," Gibbs rasped and cleared his throat.

Patterson's expression said it all.

"Stay here and process the crime scene," Gibbs said attempting to sidestep the men and head for the vehicle.

His efforts were thwarted when the second man blocked his path.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave," the man asserted, halting Gibbs' progress by placing a huge gloved hand on the agent's chest.

"Gibbs," Patterson said. "This is Commander Jobson, Hazmat Systems Command."

"We got three dead, two in the hospital and two missing," Gibbs replied menacingly through tightly clenched teeth. "I can go around you or through you, Commander - your choice."

His expression was enough to reveal his anger but his brittle voice left no doubt of his intent.

"No one's going anywhere," Jobson repeated, unfazed by the former Marine's menacing glare. "Until the substance in the canister has been identified, this area has to be contained. That includes you and your team."

"We've got people in trouble, Commander!"

"They'll be in more trouble if you expose them to some kind of airborne pathogen."

"You think that's what this is?" McGee asked, suddenly very aware of the throbbing in his temples and the burning at the back of his throat.

"Until I hear otherwise, that's exactly what I think," Jobson stated before turning back to Gibbs. "You can spend thirty minutes in the decontamination unit here or you can spend the night under observation at Bethesda – that's _your_ choice, Gibbs."

The men faced off, both sets of eyes filled with stubborn determination and neither willing to let the other get the upper hand. The sound of rolling thunder grew louder as the storm approached.

"Ah…Gibbs." Agent Patterson hesitantly interrupted the standoff. "The director's on his way. He said to tell you that Abby's monitoring the BOLO on your father's truck and there's a Navy Sea King waiting for you at Anacostia as soon as you've cleared DECON."

Gibbs thoughts wound back several years to the negative pressure chamber that housed his agent as he desperately fought for each new breath. He looked at McGee and Ziva, both ready and willing to follow him regardless of the personal risk. A growl of frustration from the former Marine signified that reason had overcome emotion and Gibbs relented.

The team was ushered into an inflatable holding area where their blood pressure, pulse and blood samples were taken. Their clothing, shoes and belongings were confiscated and temporary clothing packs issued. They were hastily triaged for any signs of dizziness, nausea or headaches and their eyes, noses and mouths were rinsed thoroughly.

Leaving the holding area, they were led to a mobile decontamination tent with several high-volume, low-pressure showers separated by privacy partitions.

"You need to shower for a minimum of three minutes," the Hazmat commander instructed. "Gently scrub your hair and skin with the soap-water, starting at the head and working down all the way to your feet."

"Yeah," Gibbs muttered as the unwanted memory returned again. "We know the drill."

As the team disrobed and stepped into the shower stalls, the fear that had been fluttering on the periphery of Gibbs' mind took hold with a vengeance. His father and Tony were missing - his desperately ill agent and an octogenarian with a bad hip. Gibbs knew that, even in his present condition, Tony would fight with everything he had to keep Jackson safe but how long would he last without someone to watch his six?

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Any gambler or mathematician worth their salt would agree there was no such thing as a sure bet, but Leroy Jethro Gibbs would argue that since meeting his senior field agent, he'd never lost a dime when he'd put his money on DiNozzo.

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

With Tony sleeping fitfully in the passenger seat, Jack hummed softly to himself as the storm unleashed its fury with a lightning show across an angry sky. His attention was quickly drawn to the lights of a vehicle approaching quickly from behind. As they approached a blind corner the car pulled to the other side of the road to overtake.

"What in the world…" Jackson muttered.

The lights of an oncoming car and the warning blast of the horn sent the SUV ducking back behind Jack's truck narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.

Jackson cursed loudly, startling Tony from his sleep and watching in astonishment as the agent reached down in one smooth movement and removed a sub-compact Beretta from his ankle holster.

"Whoa, easy there, Quick Draw," Jack said. "You planning on shooting someone?"

"Jack?" Tony asked, blinking away sleep. "S'going on?"

"Everything's fine. The car behind is a little anxious to pass, that's all," Jack explained cocking his thumb toward the rear. "Probably just some spotty kid taking his dad's SUV out for a spin."

Twisting around in his seat, the darkness and the glare of headlights made it impossible to make out the driver but Tony's instincts told him this was no spotty kid. He watched as the vehicle drew closer, then he braced for the imminent collision.

"Hold on, Jack!" he called as the truck was roughly shunted forward.

Raising his weapon in a two-handed grip, Tony cursed his trembling hands and closed his eyes against another wave of nausea.

"Wait a minute, son! We still don't know who' s back there," Jack said. "Could be that car has faulty brakes!"

"That was no accident, Jack," Tony insisted.

"What makes you so sure?"

Twin muzzle flashes from the SUV were the only warning before two rounds whistled between them and perforated the windshield.

"Lucky guess," Tony quipped.

Turning quickly he grunted as his still-healing ribs protested the sudden movement. Big, slow gasps gave space for calm to return and he readjusted his grip on his weapon.

"You up to this?" Jack inquired worriedly.

"I'm fine," Tony lied.

"The way your hands are shaking, son, you couldn't hit the side of a barn."

"Then we're in luck, 'cause he's not driving a barn."

As they neared the start of another steep incline it was evident that Jack's faithful old truck was no match for the powerful engine of the pursuing SUV as it gained ground quickly.

Struggling to keep his balance in the moving truck, Tony fired off a rapid series of shots with nowhere near his usual accuracy and cursed as the bullets pierced the hood of the SUV and shattered the front headlight. The tyres caught the dirt edge of the road and the vehicle swerved dangerously toward the rail before the driver managed to bring all four wheels back onto the sealed surface and resume the chase.

"Dammit," Tony whispered.

The driver continued to play tag with Jack and together they ducked and weaved along the road, swerving in and out as the SUV fought to pass on the narrow road. Jack pulled the wheel swiftly to the left cutting off another attempt and prompting a grunt of pain as Tony was thrown heavily against the passenger-side door.

"You okay?" Jack called as he shifted gears.

Grimacing, Tony closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing as a vicious pain stabbed through his side. A long moment passed before he looked up at Jackson's concerned face.

"Taking a stab in the dark here, Jack," he gasped. "You teach your son to drive?"

"Taught him everything he knows about safe motoring," Jack chuckled.

The men sobered as the hissing of an overheated engine sounded from the under the hood.

"Looks like we cooked the old girl's motor," Jack stated. "We're not gonna be able to hold this guy off for much longer."

Tony desperately tried to formulate a plan while his head threatened to implode.

"Where are we?" he asked. "What's up ahead?"

"Nothing but trees and winding roads for another ten miles."

"We're not gonna make it another ten miles! We need to find anoth-"

"Tony? You alright?"

"I got an idea."

**-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-**

The storm had intensified and descended on Washington DC with a spectacular display of lightning, thunder, howling winds and pelting rain. The agents had cleared the DECON showers and were waiting impatiently in the mobile observation area for the results of the tests. A selection of prophylactic medications had been dispensed to each of them and a cellular phone wrestled from one of the Hazmat team allowed them to keep apprised of the investigation.

A thousand nameless fears buffeted the former Marine as the weight of his father's and Tony's lives compounded his feelings of frustration and helplessness. Pacing anxiously, he rolled his neck until it clicked and shook his head in an attempt to cast off the debilitating thoughts littering his mind.

At least a dozen times during the last two weeks Gibbs had fought the urge to drive to Stillwater and bring his agent home. But Tony had more than enough to deal with and having his colleagues at the safe house watch his painful recovery from drug addiction was a humiliation Gibbs would never allow.

Thomas Grayson wanted Tony dead and, even from prison, the man would turn DC upside down until he found him. So Gibbs had asked Jack if Tony could stay with him in Stillwater until the hearing and his father readily agreed, viewing it as an opportunity to bridge the twenty-year estrangement between him and his son. If he were totally honest with himself, Gibbs couldn't deny that he wanted it, too. Jack had already seen Tony at his lowest point and the two men had formed a genuine friendship. It seemed like an obvious solution.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not known as a man who gave in to his emotions and although he'd chew his own arm off before admitting it, when Anthony DiNozzo junior was involved, sometimes his heart ruled his head.

His attention was drawn to his teammates as they battled their own fears and apprehension. In the far corner of the small room, McGee spoke quietly into the cell. He looked exhausted and his usual pallid complexion appeared more noticeable against the dark coveralls. Fine lines had etched themselves around his blue eyes and he massaged his temple trying to ease the headache he denied having. In the opposite corner, Ziva sat on the floor performing a series of stretching exercises. Her dark hair was drying into its naturally wild and curly style, reminiscent of her first days in Washington. Although she projected a calm disposition, her dark eyes could not hide her concern.

"Still nothing," McGee said despondently as he snapped the cell closed. "Abby's still monitoring the high priority BOLO with Penn state troopers but the storms are hampering the search. There are no reports of Jack's truck being involved in any traffic accidents."

"Then where are they?" Ziva asked. "They were supposed to be in Scranton over an hour ago."

"Maybe they pulled over to wait out the storm," he suggested.

"Jack wouldn't have stopped," Gibbs said, stopping his pacing and dropping into a chair. "Tony needed a doctor...Jack wouldn't have stopped."

"With the exception of the protection detail, only you, Director Vance and Commander Barnes knew the whereabouts of the safe house," Ziva said. "How well do you know the commander?"

"You can't seriously believe Pete is involved in this?" McGee defended. "He's Tony's friend, they've known each other for years."

"Friends can be bought or extorted, McGee," she said turning to face the team leader. "I know he is Tony's friend, Gibbs, but do you trust him?"

"DiNozzo trusts him," Gibbs replied definitively. "S'good enough for me."

Agent Patterson entered the room, still wearing the Hazmat suit and shaking off the rain.

"Man, it's really coming down out there," he said. "These things should come with windshield wipers."

"What's happening?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

"I just spoke with Jobson, we should have the results of the tests any minute," he said.

"About time," he growled. "You get anything before the storm hit?"

"Not much. There were no signs of a scuffle near where Young's body was found at the rear of the house," he said. "Whoever killed him, took him by surprise."

"No way," McGee protested. "Frank Young was too good an agent to get caught off-guard like that."

"I worked with Frank a long time," Patterson replied. "He was a fine agent and a better man. What I'm saying is, whoever did this was damn good to get the drop on him like that."

"How many?" Gibbs asked.

"So far, it looks like only one."

"One man took out our entire team?" McGee asked incredulously.

"I told you, Tim, this guy was good." Patterson replied.

"Professional hit man," Ziva added almost casually.

"What else ya got?" Gibbs asked feeling the chill of fear run down his spine.

"We found a partial footprint and made a casting to send to Abby. We couldn't lift any prints from the canister but Hazmat will send that to Abby too, maybe she can find something. We can't process inside the safe house until we get the all-clear."

"You've got the all-clear," Vance said from the doorway where he stood flanked by Ducky and Jimmy Palmer. "The interior of the house has been cleared. Patterson; you and your team start processing. The ME's will join you directly."

"Yes, Sir," Patterson replied as he hustled for the exit.

"Director?" Gibbs asked.

"Hazmat and Miss Scuito have identified the chemical as an aerosol form of Fentanyl," Vance said.

"That is the substance used during the Nord-Ost siege in Russia, yes?" Ziva asked.

"Yes, my dear, you are quite right," Ducky replied. "Fentanyl is a powerful, fast-acting opiate which is commonly used in anesthesia. It can be quite deadly depending on the quantities used and one's exposure to it."

"Deadly?" McGee gulped.

"In certain circumstances, yes, Timothy," Ducky replied. "There are many variables, of course, the size of the area, the concentrate of the substance used and whether it was mixed with something more…shall we say, sinister?"

"So…we're fine?" McGee said hopefully.

"Yes, you are fine," Ducky smiled. "However, you may experience some minor inconveniences such as headaches, sore throat or dizziness. I don't suppose it would do any good to suggest you all take the rest of the evening off."

"Gotta get to Stillwater, Duck, you bring our gear?" Gibbs asked.

Jimmy Palmer stepped forward carrying a large box.

"I have clothes from your lockers and newly issued cells, but they _still_ won't trust me with your replacement weapons," he said.

"I wouldn't either, Palmer," Gibbs replied, recalling a similar conversation when Tony was infected with Y-Pestis.

"Your replacement weapons are in the trunk of my vehicle," Vance said. "My driver's bringing them in."

As the agents hurriedly retrieved their clothes from the box, Ziva sidled next to Palmer and spoke in a voice that only he could hear.

"You went through my locker, Jimmy?" she asked.

"Er…only to get you a new set of clothes, Ziva, I swear," Jimmy replied tentatively.

"I see you chose the French lace bra and thong over my abundant supply of sports underwear?"

"Really? I…er…can't say that I took much notice," the ME assistant said, his face heating with embarrassment.

"We will continue this conversation later," the Israeli promised menacingly. "And if you even _think_ about telling anyone about my underwear I will cut out your spleen with a spoon and feed it to you. Do you understand?"

"I…I understand," Palmer said swallowing audibly as Ziva hurried away to change her clothes.

A loud crack of thunder sounded overhead as Vance's driver appeared with the requisitioned weapons. He spoke quietly to the director before returning to the car.

"We have a problem," Vance said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "The FAA has cancelled all military and civilian flights until this storm passes over."

"Then we'll drive," Gibbs said turning to his team. "Get your gear, we're leaving."

"It's a four hour drive to Stillwater, Gibbs. The National Weather Service says we'll be grounded for two. Even with the wait the Sea King's still the fastest option."

Cursing loudly, Gibbs ran agitated fingers through his still wet hair unintentionally giving it a spiky bed-hair appearance. Thoughts of his father and Tony in danger ripped and tore at his composure and with an almost primal growl of frustration were banished to the depths of his mind.

"Boss?" McGee asked.

"We wait." Came the reluctant reply.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0 **

"We're almost there. You sure you can handle this?" Jack asked, urging the labouring truck around another tight bend.

Tony took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as his leg muscles released their vice-like grip.

"I'm sure," he replied with a nod. "I can hit him, Jack."

"When you're at your best, I reckon you could shoot the wiener off a humming bird," Jack said. "But son, we both know you're not at you're best and we're low on ammo. Aim for the car."

Tony's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"Hummingbirds have wieners?" he asked, momentarily breaking the tension.

Jack replied with a grin as the glare of the SUV's headlights loomed in the rear view mirror.

"Aim for the car. It's a bigger target and with a bit of luck you'll slow him down some. Hang on, here we go."

Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, Jack steered the truck into a blind corner and then slammed his foot on the brake bringing it to a shuddering halt in the middle of the road. Tony gasped as the momentum threw him forward against the hold of the seat belt. Releasing the clasp he threw his shoulder against the door and all but fell from the pick-up.

"Get down and stay down!" he told the older man. "Keep the motor running."

Satisfied Jack was as safe as he was going to be, Tony took cover behind the truck and cursed the absence of his jacket as the rain soaked through his thin sweater. Rolling his shoulders to loosen painfully tight muscles he adjusted his grip on the small Beretta as the SUV roared into view.

The driver was taken completely by surprise by the stationary truck blocking the road, wrenching the wheel sharply and slamming on the brake. Tony squeezed off several quick rounds and watched in disgust as they embedded harmlessly into the body of the vehicle and shattered the side windows. The SUV fishtailed wildly on the wet road before crashing hard against the safety fence with a sickening screech of metal on metal. The impact with the guardrail transformed the fender and front panel into a buckled and twisted mess.

Tony steadied his aim to take out a tyre, biting back a moan as his diaphragm squeezed his chest painfully. Jerking the trigger he hissed out a curse as the shot went wide and passed harmlessly into the night. Altering his stance and ordering trembling fingers into compliance Tony took aim at the driver's chest when the resounding click of an empty magazine filled him with dread. Hardly a second passed before the door of the SUV flew open and the driver returned fire.

"Drive, Jack, drive!" Tony yelled crouching lower as the automatic weapon strafed the side of the truck with bullets.

Flattening the gas-pedal to the floor, Jackson watched the tachometer needle jump violently as he demanded every unit of horsepower from the overheated engine. The tyres smoked and squealed in their search for traction leaving a substantial amount of rubber on the road behind them. The old truck lurched forward, its motor whining in protest and threatening to seize. On legs that could barely support him, Tony ran beside it for several yards beside it before flinging the door open and diving headfirst into the cab.

His handsome features contorted as his stomach cramped again and bilious fluids demanded to be set free. He swallowed convulsively and took a few deep breaths before looking up at Jackson.

"This is a perfect time for Plan B!" he gasped, twisting around in the seat to ensure the SUV wasn't following.

"We have a Plan B?" Jackson asked.

"Nope…but if we did…this would be the perfect time for it," Tony deadpanned.

The truck's engine spluttered and hissed its way around another series of bends.

"You look back now you'll get a good view of the last mile or so," Jack said. "See if that fella's still on our tail."

Looking back over his shoulder Tony shivered as the chill of the rain soaked steadily through his clothing.

"Once he unhooks his fender from the guardrail he'll be all over us," Tony said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he felt his stomach roil again. "We've got no cell, no spare clips and I'm out of ammo. The way I figure it, we've got one ace in the hole."

"What's that?"

"You."

"Me?" Jack said.

"You know this area and I'll bet McGee's pension that the guy in the SUV is not from around here," he said attempting to massage the pain from his abdomen. "We need to shake this guy, find some shelter and a way to call for help. Any ideas?"

Jackson looked thoughtful for a moment before brightening.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "Bout a half a mile from here there's an old trail that leads to a fire tower in the State Park."

"The tower manned?" Tony asked hopefully.

"No, but there's usually some kind of radio transmitter and basic supplies in case of emergency."

"Let's see…we're being chased and shot at by someone who's trying to kill us. Think that qualifies as an emergency?" the younger man asked without waiting for an answer. "How far?"

"Eight maybe nine miles from the start of the fire-trail."

"If that guy doesn't know about the tower, he'll expect us to stay on the main road and head for the nearest town," Tony said quickly weighing the options. "Let's do it."

"Hang on now young fella, there's another problem."

"Just one?" Tony quipped.

"Two miles past the turn off, there's a point on the main road where you can see the entire valley for miles," Jack explained. "If he doesn't see us, he's gonna turn back and come looking."

"Then we better move." Tony said. "Because if he finds us, we're dead."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

A/N:- Thank you to everyone supporting this story. I'm overwhelmed, L


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Four**

Standing rigidly in front of the large window in the director's office, Gibbs watched as the electrical storm reached its peak intensity. Searing flashes of white-blue lightning cast the low-hanging clouds in eerie shadows while gusting winds buffeted the window with near-horizontal curtains of rain.

He cast an impatient look at his watch – according the National Weather Service, there was at least another ninety minutes before the storm blew itself out to sea and allowed the Navy helo to join the search. The anger and frustration was building in him, fuelled by the fact that there was still no news of his father and Tony. The thought clenched a knot in his chest so tight that he could barely breathe.

Vance completed his call to the Petersburg Federal Correctional Institution, placed the handset in its cradle and joined his lead agent by the window.

"According to the warden, Grayson's been a model prisoner," he said. "You think Grayson's powerful enough to organise this from his jail cell?"

"He's powerful and he's desperate," Gibbs replied. "And I don't believe in coincidences."

"He's made no calls since his arrival and the only visitor he's had is his attorney Cameron Scott."

"Then Scott had to arrange it," Gibbs said definitively. "I'll have McGee pull his phone records. Any news on Harper and Riley?"

"They'll be fine. Doctors are keeping them overnight for observation."

A long tension filled moment passed between them.

"I shoulda brought him home, Leon," Gibbs said pressing the heels of his hands into tired eyes.

"There was no way we could have seen this coming. If DiNozzo had been at the safe house, we'd have another dead agent," Vance said walking back to his desk to answer the intercom. After listening for a moment he replied. "Send them in."

The door opened and McGee and Ziva entered with Commander Peter Barnes.

Wearing crisp Navy service whites the JAG prosecutor nodded a greeting to Vance and extended a hand to Gibbs who shook it cordially. The two men had known each other in a professional capacity for several years now. Although Pete and his wife Helen were friends of Tony's, Gibbs and the commander shared the intangible yet undeniable heartbreak of fathers who'd suffered the loss of their little girls. Their grief bonded them in a way that others would never understand.

"Thanks for coming so quickly, Commander," Vance said.

"I was on my way here when I got your call."

"Take a seat everyone," Vance instructed before briefing the commander on the situation at the safe house."

"I can't believe it," the commander uttered. "I was there around noon today and everything was fine."

"The protection detail was handpicked – four of our best agents," Vance continued. "They accepted this assignment knowing they would not be able to contact family or friends until it was over. We don't believe they breached protocol."

"Then who else could have…wait…you think I leaked this?" the commander asked.

The commander's gaze flicked from one implacable face to the next; only McGee looked away guiltily.

"You were the last person to see them before the safe house was attacked," Ziva stated bluntly.

"Tony is one of my closest friends!" Pete argued. "I've worked as hard as anyone on this case. And your accusation, Officer David, is offensive."

"Settle down, Commander," Gibbs said. "No one's accusing you."

"She is!" Pete replied his eyes still locked with Ziva's in a silent battle.

"We believe one of our agents was forced into giving up DiNozzo's location," Vance stated. "He and Jackson Gibbs are currently missing."

The JAG prosecutor blanched.

"They're missing? Since when?"

"Tony had a doctor's appointment earlier this evening…he never arrived," McGee replied. "We haven't been able to contact them for several hours."

"You have not yet told us why you went to the safe house," Ziva remarked.

The pair exchanged another icy look before the commander turned to face Vance and Gibbs.

"I told you I was already on my way here when you called," he said. "I wanted to let you know that Thomas Grayson's pre-trial hearing has been rescheduled to the 15th."

"That's only three days!" McGee exclaimed. "We were supposed to have two weeks to prepare!"

"Grayson's attorney lodged a petition to have him released from prison on his own recognisance. The judge turned it down but agreed to move the hearing forward. That's as good as acknowledging he has doubts about the strength of our case and the witness testimonies," Pete explained. "I went to the safe house to work with Billy Matthews on his testimony. Everything was fine when I left."

"Commander, is it possible you were followed?" Vance asked.

"No way," Barnes replied. "I didn't drive directly there and I checked to make sure I wasn't being followed."

"You drive your own car to the safe house, Pete?" Gibbs asked.

"No, I have a Navy vehicle assigned to me."

"You drive it here tonight?"

"It may be a short distance across the Navy yard, Gibbs, but in case you haven't noticed, it's pouring outside. Of course I drove here."

Gibbs reached out his hand, palm up.

"Gonna need your keys."

"What?"

"Your keys," the former Marine repeated.

Frustrated and confused the commander indignantly rose to his feet and dug the keys out of his pocket before handing them to Gibbs.

"McGee, bring the car to the evidence garage," he instructed, tossing the keys to the younger man. "You and Ziva check it out."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said leaving the room with Ziva on his heels.

"You think someone placed a tracking device on my car?" Pete asked.

Gibbs remained silent but his eyes said it all.

The commander felt the blood rush from his face as he slumped back into the chair.

"Oh my God."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Weather, natural erosion and years of disrepair had gouged deep grooves into the unsealed surface making driving on the fire trail both hazardous and laborious. They had only travelled two miles along the trail when, with a loud bang and a death rattle, the beleaguered engine gasped its last breath before spewing smoke and capitulating.

Exchanging a look of dread Jackson and Tony climbed from the cab and walked to front of the truck. Carefully lifting the hood they both took a step back as the engine shot a last defiant rush of steam into the cold air.

"Don't suppose we got a Plan C?" Jackson asked.

Tony looked further down the track but saw nothing but blackness.

"How far to the tower?" he asked.

"A good five or six miles by the trail," Jackson replied. "Less through the forest but I wouldn't recommend it at night. If you're worried about me, son, don't be. I'll make it."

"I'm more worried about the guy following us. If you're right, he could be here any minute," Tony said, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.

Switching on the flashlight, Jackson turned in a slow circle, blinking his eyes to acclimatise to the darkness beyond the thin beam of light.

"See anything you recognise?" Tony asked, digging the knuckles of one hand into his temple to counter his throbbing headache.

"It's been a while since I was here after dark…I used to bring Leroy camping out here." He pointed off into the distance and Tony squinted into the darkness. "See that ridge about a mile away? If I'm right, there's a small cave on the other side. It's set back a way and kinda hard to find."

"Good, you can take cover there while I lead this guy in the opposite direction."

"While you _what?"_ Jack asked.

"You asked for a Plan C."

"If it's all the same to you, son, I'd prefer a Plan C we both survive. We need to stay together."

"It's me he's after, Jack, but if finds us together he'll kill us both," Tony said, his face as serious as Jack had ever seen it.

"Then he better not find us."

"No offence, but your bad hip is just gonna slow us down," Tony said. "You need to get to the cave. If company comes I'll lead him away."

"You didn't get half a mile yesterday before I found you in a heap on the ground," Jack argued. "You were so out of your head you could hardly tell me your name."

"Come on, Jack, that's not true," Tony protested. "You didn't ask me my name."

"Tony-"

"I'll be fine," he stressed. "I'll lead him back the way we came; let him think I'm headed back to the road for help."

"Then what?"

"I'll double back to the cave. If I don't get back before sunrise, you head for the tower and radio for help," Tony said. "If I know Gibbs, he'll already be looking for us."

"I don't like this, son, why can't we both just go to the cave until morning?"

"Because if he finds us in there unarmed it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel. It's the only way this is gonna work, Jack and you know it."

Jack let out a frustrated growl and grabbed two fistfuls of Tony's sweater, bringing them nose-to-nose. He was no idiot; as much as he desperately wanted the younger man to stay, he knew Tony was right. Reason shouted down emotion as he looked anxiously into the face of his young friend.

"Trust me, Jack," Tony said earnestly. "I'll lose him in the forest, set a false trail and be back before you know it."

For a moment Jackson stared, measuring the truth of the younger man's words then, with a reluctant nod, he loosened his grip, patting the rumpled sweater back into place.

"I'll take the tarp, blanket and flashlight from the truck," Jack said. "Help keep the chill off during the night."

"Good idea," Tony nodded.

"You get time, use a stick to lift the vegetation you crushed down," Jack told him. "That'll make it harder to follow your tracks."

"Got it," the younger man said.

"Make sharp direction changes and stay on the hard or stony ground when you can."

"I will."

"There's a stream about 100 yards to the south that runs parallel to the trail. On your way back, keep the stream on your left and the trail on your right and it'll lead ya right back here."

"Jack…I'll be fine."

"Just one more thing," Jack said meeting Tony's gaze directly. "While you're out there losing him, make sure you don't get lost yourself."

He pulled Tony into a tight hug, grimacing as he felt the deep tremors the younger man had been trying to hide. Stepping back he slid his large hand to the nape of Tony's neck and squeezed gently.

"Godspeed, son," he rasped, turning away quickly to hide his emotion as he made his way slowly toward the cave.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Time dragged by with irritating slowness as the team waited for the storm to pass. Suppressing his sorrow and holding his professional demeanour firmly in place, Leon Vance departed the Navy yard to perform the most difficult task assigned to any agency director – paying his respects to the families of his murdered agents. McGee and Ziva had located a small tracking device attached to the rear bumper of the JAG commander's car and had taken it to Abby for forensic testing.

Commander Peter Barnes exited the men's room looking pale and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He took a few shaky steps before leaning against the wall and taking a deep cleansing breath. A bottle of water appeared in front of his face.

"Take it," Gibbs said, jerking his head in the direction of the bullpen. "Come on."

Arriving back in the bullpen, Gibbs offered the commander a seat and watched as he fell heavily into it. At 44, Peter Barnes was several years older than Tony and starting to grey at the temples. The man's guilt was palpable as he turned despairing eyes to Gibbs.

"I thought I'd done everything right," he rasped. "The safe house is a 15 minute drive from my office. It took me forty-five minutes to get there. I zigzagged across town, back-tracked and drove in circles to ensure I wasn't followed…I never even considered a tracking device."

Gibbs' expression was implacable, not giving anything away.

"Those men died because of me, Gibbs!" Pete said, swallowing convulsively as he felt the bile rising at the back of his throat.

"S'not your fault," Gibbs stated truthfully. "You didn't kill them."

The commander's dark intelligent eyes bore lines at the corners and tension formed his mouth into a thin line. Gibbs' gut roiled in anticipation – the Navy officer had something else on his mind and he instinctively knew he was not going to like it.

"I've been thinking about Cameron Scott," Pete said.

"Grayson's attorney?"

"The judge denied his petition to release Grayson on his own recognisance. I'm wondering why Scott didn't appeal."

"Didn't have to appeal, the case was brought forward," Gibbs stated.

"You think Thomas Grayson would stay locked up in a federal penitentiary for another three days if there was a chance he could win an appeal?" Pete asked. "We're missing something. Scott's a pit bull; he never gives up on anything…unless…"

"He knew the safe house was gonna be hit," Gibbs hissed. "Sonofabitch was giving Grayson an iron-clad alibi."

The commander rose to his feet and paced furiously.

"With Matthews dead and Tony missing, this case is over unless we can decrypt Grayson's bank account."

"McGee's working on it," Gibbs said. "If the decryption can be broken, he'll do it."

The commander sighed deeply, looking twenty years older than he had when he arrived.

"Go home," Gibbs said. "Get some rest. We'll call when we've got something."

Nodding compliantly, Peter Barnes started for the elevator before turning back to face the agent.

"Tony and your father…you think they're okay?"

"Between them, they've got the richest deposit of street-smarts, stubbornness and dumb luck known to man. They'll make it," Gibbs replied with a confidence he didn't feel.

A tremor of a smile appeared on the commander's lips and faded just as quickly.

"Gibbs," he said desperately. "I would never have knowingly put them in danger."

"I know, Commander…I know."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

An incessant chorus of insect calls and curtains of misty rain added to Tony's misery as he sat hidden among the thick underbrush near Jack's abandoned truck. The cold was intense, stealing into his muscles and sapping the remaining warmth from his body. It had been nearly thirty minutes since he'd watched Jack disappear from view and he hoped like hell the older man had found shelter in the cave. He decided to give it fifteen more minutes before joining him.

His stomach had earlier purged itself of its meager contents as waves of nauseating muscle contractions continued to torment him. Beneath it all, he felt his darkest fear begin to stir. Controlled but insistent it attempted to chew through his composure, whispering venomous thoughts into his mind while corroding his soul and self-restraint. Turning his face into the wind and rain, Tony vanquished the darkness to the recesses of his mind, knowing that it would return even stronger.

The sudden unnatural silence spooked him, forcing him to focus and amplifying even the smallest sound until he found he was jumping at shadows. A rush of adrenaline sharpened his senses to the point of pain and increased his heart rate. Danger was imminent; he could feel it in his veins.

He saw the flicker of headlights being extinguished as the SUV rounded the corner and drove slowly closer to the disabled truck before coming to a halt. Light footfalls grew louder as the man cautiously approached. Satisfied the truck was deserted the man turned in a slow circle, scanning the area with a semi-automatic weapon and weighing his options. The beam of a flashlight appeared and pointed downward as the man searched the ground for tracks. Tony's heart skipped a beat and his whisper hung on the cold air.

"Show time."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs shook off the remnants of the drenching rain as he returned from his latest coffee run. Given the weather conditions he could have settled for the over-brewed agency swill but he needed time alone to gather his thoughts. As he entered the forensics lab he noted Ziva yelling into the phone at Abby's desk while McGee appeared to be having an animated discussion with his laptop – the actions of both weren't uncommon.

"Chow's on," Gibbs stated placing a box of sandwiches and beverages on the workbench. He handed Abby a Caf-Pow before devouring most of his sandwich in one bite.

"Gibbs, I was just about to call you!" Abby exclaimed. "I know you don't believe me but I swear it's like we have this totally telepathic connection. You always show up just when I need you."

"You need me or the Caf-Pow?" Gibbs managed with an over-filled mouth.

"Both! But I need you more," she said, frowning at his lack of dining etiquette as another sandwich met a hasty demise.

Ziva and McGee joined them.

"Ziva?"

"No new hits on our BOLO's on Jackson's truck," she advised. "And no one fitting Tony or Jackson's descriptions have been admitted to any of the local hospitals. The Navy Sea King is standing by at Anacostia and they will call us as soon as they have been cleared to fly."

"McGee?"

"I'm still working on breaking the encryption on Grayson's account, Boss," McGee replied. "I've hooked up a link with Keating at Cyber Crimes and we're working on it together."

The team turned to see the live image of Agent Daniel Keating on the screen of McGee's laptop. Keating waved nervously.

"Any progress?" Gibbs asked around another mouthful of food.

"I'm glad you asked, Agent Gibbs," Keating replied via the laptop. "As you know, the Grayson's used a proxy server. Now, there are many different kinds of proxy servers…there's the transparent proxy server, the distorted proxy server and let's not forget the ano-"

Keating's image disappeared as Gibbs slammed the laptop shut.

"McGee, any progress?" he asked clearly irritated.

"Not yet, Boss."

"Stay on it. Without that data we haven't got a case," he said turning to his forensic specialist. "Abs?"

"I've been able to identify the brand name of the shoe print found at the crime scene," Abby said clicking a button and displaying the image on the plasma screen. "The brand is Joma Sports."

"Manufactured here?" Gibbs asked.

"Imported from Spain," Abby replied. "It's a popular brand, available in hundreds if not thousands of outlets throughout the country."

"Size 51?" Ziva read from the screen. "That is the equivalent of the American size 16.5, yes?"

"So we're looking for Sasquatch or the centre for the Washington Wizards," McGee deadpanned. He blanched as he felt the heat of the team leader's glare. "Sorry Boss."

"Got anything else, Abs?" Gibbs asked.

"Don't I always, Gibbs?" she grinned. "We found a hair on Agent Wallace's jacket. I'm running a DNA search but it will take time. I can tell you for a fact that it does not match any of our agents or Billy Matthews."

"How can you be certain?" Ziva asked.

"It's red," Abby said. "'Rock-Out Red' in fact. It's a DIY hair dye."

"Killer's changing his appearance," Gibbs stated.

"Okay, so we're looking for a very tall, redheaded male with big feet?" McGee summarised. "Ziva, put a BOLO out on Ronald McDonald"

The younger man's expression remained stolid but his tone revealed that all those years of studying advanced wise-ass under the tutelage of Professor DiNozzo had not been wasted. The swat to the back of his head wasn't totally unexpected.

"Sorry Boss," he said. "Just trying to ease the tension…you know…like Tony does."

Gibbs offered the barest of nods in acknowledgement.

"One DiNozzo's about all I can handle," Gibbs growled turning back to Abby. "You get any prints?"

"Nothing on the canister containing the fentanyl but I managed to get a partial from the oxygen canister. I'm running it through AFIS now," Abby replied. "I only have 6 minutiae points to work with but it's a start."

"Let me know if you get something else," Gibbs said turning for the door.

"Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby called after him. "I got something else. The shoes aren't the only connection I found to Spain. The tracking device removed from Commander Barnes' car was manufactured in Madrid. The brand name is "Rastreador" which is Spanish for-"

"Tracker," Gibbs replied.

"Sí, mi zorro plateado," Abby replied. "This device is not exported to the US – someone had to bring it in. Our killer could be Spanish…or he could have had it mailed here."

"Why to go the trouble? Tracking devices are easy to purchase here," Ziva said.

"Exactly! That's why I think the killer brought it here from Spain."

"Stay on it, Abs," Gibbs said.

He leaned in to place a chaste kiss on her cheek then turned on his heel and started for the door.

"Wait, Gibbs!" Abby called to the team leader's retreating back. He turned back to see her anxiously chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes swam behind an ocean of tears she refused to let fall. "Please tell me they're alright."

Every fibre of his being wanted to answer her positively – to tell her that Tony and Jack were alive and well and holed up somewhere dry and warm waiting out the storm. Her concern and anxiousness was mirrored in the expressions worn by McGee and Ziva as all three looked to him for reassurance that he could not provide.

"I'll be with Ducky," he said as he headed for the elevator.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony launched out of cover like a jackrabbit, crouching low as a salvo of gunfire was sprayed in his general direction. Chancing a glance behind him, he saw the gunman in pursuit and he ran blindly into the forest, leading the man away from the cave but, more importantly, away from Jackson.

Willing strength into chilled and abused muscles he ran on, stumbling and staggering as thorny bracken penetrated his clothing and stung the flesh on his arms and legs. Mindful of Jackson's advice he frequently changed direction to mix up the trail and he paused now and then to make sure he was still being pursued.

His energy diminished with every step taken on cramping and shaking legs and he cursed his own perceived weakness as he gasped for breath. He didn't think he could go on, and yet he did. His leg muscles burned, as did his lungs. Despite the freezing temperatures the perspiration dripped off of him as he struggled through the brush. He pressed on, every breath cut short with a jolt of pain from his still healing ribs.

'_Suck it up, DiNozzo,'_ he told himself.

Taking a deep breath he cleared his mind of everything except the task at hand. He couldn't fail, there was too much at stake. He forced himself to keep up a steady pace biting his lips to capture any moans or grunts that demanded voice. His breath frosted and his vision blurred, the rain running into his eyes not helping. He slowed then took cover behind the trunk of a large fallen tree. The temptation to close his eyes and rest for a moment was overwhelming.

With a terrified shudder, he felt the darkness within him return, sending burning sensations to every nerve ending and wringing a moan from lips that were blue from the cold. His muscles contracted cruelly as dread congealed in his stomach and the urgency grew for the substance his blood craved.

The snapping of a twig sounded from across the clearing. Tony forced himself to still, afraid that his hammering heart would reveal his position. Easing forward he peered around the tree trunk. Something moved, just off to his right and his eyes narrowed as he concentrated his gaze on the spot where he'd seen the movement. He waited; barely allowing himself to breathe as he stared into the darkness. There it was - another flash of movement, barely perceptible but real nonetheless. Squinting hard, he strained to see what had caught his eye when the unmistakeable shape of a man came into view through the trees.

Advancing noiselessly the man crept forward closing on Tony's position. The agent bent down and picked up a large rock, momentarily weighing it in his hand as he mentally prepared himself. Leaning back, he hurled the rock as hard as he could, watching as it flew through the air and landed perfectly among the trees on the other side of the clearing. The man spun around, instantly adopting a defensive crouch as he took several cautious steps in that direction.

With strength he didn't know he possessed Tony darted back into the heavily wooded forest. He kept low as a volley of shots rang out, missing him by a whisker and striking the bark of a nearby tree in an explosion of splinters and dust. Another shot passed close enough for a whiff of displaced air to brush his skin. Swearing, he dropped flat just as another round tore past – that one would have hit him.

He had to keep moving. One final burst of energy got him to his feet and running hard. He tripped but managed to stay upright, every sense attentive for signs of pursuit. Dark clouds sailed across the sky throwing shadows and creating the illusion that every bush was someone lying in wait. And then he heard it…the distant sound of running water floated on the air. He followed the sound to a small stream, swollen by the heavy rainfall; its current was running fast. He waded straight in; gasping as the frigid water soaked through his socks and sneakers. Tony made his way downstream slipping and sliding on the moss covered rocks beneath the surface of the water as he scanned the forest for signs of the gunman. He was acutely aware that the noise of the rushing water concealed the sound of the gunman's footsteps as well as his own but as he staggered onwards he knew he had no other choice.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The 'swoosh' of the opening glass doors reverberated in the quiet of the autopsy room as the former Marine entered. Although Ducky always presided over a respectful and dignified workplace, the atmosphere was particularly sombre when the deceased included members of their own agency. After mentally preparing to perform a post mortem on a colleague, the interruption was not welcome.

"Jethro," Ducky said, his professional demeanour held firmly in place. "I'm afraid your arrival is rather premature; Mr Palmer and I have scarcely begun our work."

"We got people missing, Duck," Gibbs said, his eyes flicking to the lifeless form of Special Agent Gary Wallace. "Need whatever you've got."

"Yes, of course. Mr Palmer, keep Agent Wallace company for a few moments, would you please?"

"Yes, Doctor," an unusually subdued Palmer replied as he respectfully pulled the sheet over the agent's body.

"I'm afraid I can only offer you the preliminary findings until the autopsies are completed and the test results have returned."

"Understood," Gibbs replied.

He watched as the ME walked to his workbench and sorted through a number of x-rays and crime scene photos before selecting one and flicking a switch to illuminate the light-boxes on the wall.

"Agent Marcus Young was guarding the exterior of the safe house, when he sustained serious fractures to the C-1 and C-2 vertebrae. These vertebrae form the joint connecting the skull and the spine," Ducky explained. "I will know more when I examine him but I believe we will find that these injuries caused total paralysis and prevented him from breathing."

Gibbs stepped forward, squinting to scrutinise the x-ray.

"Clean breaks," he noted.

"And inflicted with brutal precision," Ducky added grimly. "My guess is that our killer has some form of military or martial arts training."

The ME removed his glasses, rubbed at his weary eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Duck?"

"You think you'd get used to it…but you really never do," Ducky said quietly. "Oh I know we've lost agents before and given the nature of our work, we will likely lose more. It's just…the longer I am in this job, the harder it is to reconcile the senseless loss of so many young lives."

He looked into his friend's concerned eyes before giving a small shake of his head.

"I'm sorry, Jethro, you don't have time to listen to my doleful ramblings. Tell me, has there been any word of Anthony and Jackson?"

"Nothing yet," Gibbs replied.

Any desperation he felt was hidden under a bone-hard shell of stoicism but his friend of many years knew the anguish was eating him alive. Exchanging a knowing glance, Ducky returned his attention to the reports on his desk.

"The preliminary tests on samples of the victim's blood and lung tissue all showed a build-up of fentanyl. This would have rendered them unconscious very quickly," Ducky reported. "Your young witness, Billy Matthews sustained a single gunshot wound to the head. Based on the position of the body and the absence of defensive wounds, I believe he was already unconscious at the time. Small mercy."

"What about Wallace?"

"As you know, Agent Wallace received an injection of Sodium Thiopental, more commonly known as Sodium Pentothal."

"Truth serum."

"The location of an oxygen canister near the Wallace's body suggests that it was used to revive him enough to administer the Sodium Pentothal and question him."

Ducky's expression hardened and he placed another two x-rays on the light-box.

"The fingers and thumb on each of Agent Wallace's hands were snapped like kindling," Ducky said. "The pain must have been unbearable. I believe the extent of these injuries is indicative of the level of his resistance. I've no doubt young Wallace held out as long as he could."

Gibbs nodded solemnly feeling the anger surge through his veins and settle over him like frost.

"However, once the killer extracted the information he required, he summarily and ruthlessly executed him," Ducky stated.

"Bullet to the head at close range," Gibbs stated. "Why not kill Harper and Riley?"

Ducky mentally switched from Chief Medical Examiner to Forensic Psychologist mode.

"He didn't have to," Ducky continued. "He did what he came to do, he'd killed Matthews and forcibly extracted the information he required from Agent Wallace. This man is merciless and methodical but he does not panic nor does he kill without motive or provocation."

Gibbs pushed to his feet and began roaming the small office, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"And now he's after DiNozzo," he said, concern bleeding through the thin veneer of anger. "Duck, Tony hasn't got his meds with him. How long have we got before withdrawal kicks in?"

"Oh my! Ordinarily the onset of withdrawal from Subutex would take anything from twelve to 18 hours," the ME advised. "However, after Anthony's rather foolhardy attempt to skip his medication, stopping the Subutex regime suddenly will almost certainly lead to an immediate onset of very bad withdrawal symptoms."

"Define bad," Gibbs growled feeling his gut tighten.

"Methadone and Subutex withdrawal can be more severe than withdrawal from heroin or cocaine, particularly when one is in the initial stages of treatment and taking such a high dosage. Add to that any stress or exertion and-"

"Boss," McGee panted as he jogged to the door. "I just had a call from Anacostia. The helo's been cleared for take-off."

"Keep on that decryption program," Gibbs said to McGee as he brushed by the younger man's shoulder on his way to the door. "Have Ziva meet me at the car."

"No!" McGee said firmly, stopping his team leader in his tracks.

"No?"

"No, I won't stay behind," he said meeting Gibbs' glare with intent. "Not while you're all out there. I'm either part of this team or I'm not."

"I don't have time for this, McGee," Gibbs said stepping into the younger man's personal space. "I need that account decrypted. I need you doing what you do best."

"Keating's working on it," McGee replied. "All due respect, Boss, Tony's my partner, too."

The tension mushroomed between them until the former Marine's lips twitched.

"Grab your gear," he said turning back for the door.

"Find them, Jethro," Ducky called. "Find them soon."

"Working on it, Duck," Gibbs said over his shoulder as he quickly left the room.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Finally stepping out of the stream, he made no attempt to hide his tracks on the muddy bank before setting off into the dark. Barely aware of the howling wind and the driving rain he concentrated on laying a false trail for his pursuer then looked for a vantage position to wait and watch. Covered in mud and soaked through, the thought of cowering behind a fallen log sickened him but he knew in his current condition, he had no other choice. First survive, and then find a way out - Gibbs had drilled that into him years ago.

Sighing, the little clouds of his breath condensed in the frigid air and his lungs emitted what was little more than a distressed wheeze. The clouds obliging parted, allowing a shaft of bluish moonlight to shine down on the track and he saw the silhouette of his pursuer drawing silently nearer. He took a deep breath and held it as the man drew level with his position. Too exhausted to move he remained still, playing possum and wondering how fast his heart could beat before it burst or shattered his ribcage. He watched anxiously as the gunman followed the false trail, heading in the opposite direction to the cave where Jackson waited for Tony's return.

Rolling onto his side he pulled his knees to his chest and clenched his teeth, trapping a cry of desperation as the darkness returned to drag him into a rapacious whirlpool of need. An overwhelming inferno of pain blasted through his mind like a blowtorch, awakening the hunger within. He closed his eyes and turned his face upward, somehow comforted by the heavy rain stinging his skin. He forced himself to his knees and then staggered to his feet ignoring the nauseating sensation that the earth was spinning beneath him as he stubbornly held fast to consciousness and willed himself to move.

His injured ribs ached mercilessly and joined the chorus of complaints from his abraded legs and arms. Still he pushed on doggedly, drifting in a dazed fog of exhaustion and trying not to limp as he favoured his left side. Sudden indeterminate sounds forced him to freeze or scuttle into cover time and time again. He couldn't keep this up much longer. He gasped for air, his breath whistling distressingly in his ears. Tony skirted the edge of the trees then sighed in relief as he recognised the ridge before him and knew the cave was close.

"_Man up, Anthony…you're almost there,"_ he told himself.

The entrance to the small cave was almost completely covered by brush and had he not known it was there he'd have missed it. He had little left now - as he approached the cave his body was wracked with deep tremors and his head roared as blood pounded through his veins. A man stepped out of the darkness into his path. Tony reached out, caught Jackson's arm and barely managed to control his collapse to the ground as overwhelming fatigue seduced him into unguarded darkness.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N **Apologies for the long chapter - there was a lot to get through. I hope you enjoyed it, L


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

**A/N ~ So grateful for the support and encouragement, L**

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Five**

The three agonisingly long hours Jack spent alone in the cave felt more like twenty as he peered into the darkness willing Tony's safe return. While he waited, he'd placed the old tarp on the floor of the cave and wrapped the afghan around his shoulders hoping it would take the edge off the cold and protect them from the dampness until it was light enough outside for them to make their way to the fire tower. The earlier sounds of gunfire had pierced his heart with terror of the unknown. Finally, waiting was no longer an option and he made it to the bottom of the ridge when the sound of running feet had him ducking behind the nearest cover. As Tony staggered into view, overwhelming relief quickly transformed to horror when the younger man collapsed into his arms.

Easing him to the ground, Jack's first thought was that Tony had been shot or seriously injured but after quickly checking him over he'd found no obvious wounds or injuries. A few moments later, he'd managed to rouse the agent enough to lever him to his feet. Swaying dangerously, he wrapped an arm around Tony's waist to steady him and winced at the heat radiating from his body. Jack coaxed him into a painfully slow shuffle and steered them into the cave as Tony's legs gave out and he slithered from Jack's grasp, pitching unconscious to the tarp-covered ground.

Ignoring the sharp pain in his hip, Jack kneeled next to the prostrate man and felt for the pulse point below the line of Tony's jaw. He was relieved to feel the strong rapid beat beneath his fingers. With considerable effort he turned the younger man onto his back, watching as his chest heaved with each harsh breath. Returning to the entrance of the cave, Jack concealed it with thick foliage from nearby trees and shrubs and then spent the next ten minutes scanning the area for movement before satisfying himself that they were alone.

He returned to his young friend, covered the flashlight with the afghan and switched it on. The cave was flooded in a very dull glow that made it easier to perform a more thorough check on Tony's condition. Despite the bitter cold, Tony's skin was clammy and hot to touch; his face was ashen and he was sweating profusely. Even in his unconscious state his body jerked and twitched as his abused muscles convulsed in spasms.

Gently lifting Tony's eyelids, Jackson noted the green irises were almost totally eclipsed by his dilated pupils. What he could see of Tony's chest, arms and legs were littered with scratches, livid bruises and angry abrasions but, thankfully, none were cause for too much concern.

Pouring water sparingly onto his handkerchief, Jackson gently wiped it over Tony's face and neck, watching as the young man leaned into the coolness. Jack felt the chill of apprehension seize his heart as he remembered Ducky's words from their telephone conversation that morning.

_"It's far too soon for him to begin anything other than gentle exercising. Any rigorous exertion can exacerbate withdrawal symptoms." _

In the short time he'd known him, Jack had grown very fond of Tony. But as he wiped the cool cloth over his face he understood exactly how this young man had smashed through his son's uncompromising former Marine exterior and reawakened his fierce paternal instincts.

"That was a hell of a thing you did, young fella," Jackson said, his voice filled with emotion. "Risking yourself like that…to protect me."

A soft sigh and an incoherent mutter escaped Tony's parched throat.

"I'm here, son," Jack said. "No matter what happens…I'll be right here."

Jack didn't know what lay ahead for them but at least he could say that with conviction. Now that the younger man had returned, Jack was not going to let him out of his sight again. Feeling the pull of exhaustion, Jackson switched off the flashlight; laid beside his young friend and spread the afghan over them – for now, his presence was the only thing he could give in return.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Leaving the car in the parking lot, the agents ran through the pelting rain to the heliport. Waiting for them on the tarmac was a US Navy Sea King. After strapping themselves in and positioning their headsets, Gibbs gave the co-pilot a thumbs-up signal and the chopper was airborne within a minute.

Despite being buffeted by strong headwinds the chopper made it to Stillwater in ninety minutes. They flew in low over the US-11 and I-81 between Stillwater and Scranton looking for any sign of Jack's pick-up. Denied the reassurance that Jack and Tony was still alive, Gibbs could do nothing but wait and hope as the Sea King completed return trips of both routes. He startled slightly when the co-pilot's voice sounded in the headset.

"Sir, we've been ordered to set down in a field about half a mile from the Stillwater town centre. Director Vance has arranged transport for you. We'll refuel and be back to provide air support at sunrise."

"What time is sunrise, Lieutenant?" Ziva asked.

"Zero five fifteen, Ma'am," he replied. "Three hours from now."

"We'll continue to search from the ground," Gibbs told his team as he nodded his consent and the Sea King turned in the direction of Stillwater.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Jack hissed as another sharp pain shot through his hip and drew him from a light doze. The tarp may have shielded them from the dampness but the cave floor was unforgiving and he shifted his weight in search of a more comfortable position. Feeling around in the darkness he located the flashlight and placed it under the blanket to once again mute its beam.

Looking across to Tony, he watched anxiously as the younger man's brow furrowed and his breathing quickened. Tony's body had fluctuated between disturbingly high fevers and bone-shaking chills and although his stomach had purged its meagre contents long ago it continued expel frothy bubbles of bile and stomach acid.

Keeping his voice calm and low, Jack called his young friend's name, trying to entice him into consciousness but Tony was in no great hurry to open his eyes and come away from the dark comfort he'd found himself in.

"Tony? Tony?"

Heavy eyelids fluttered open to reveal slithers of green and then closed again. Tony wasn't sure what had happened to leave him in this state, the only thing he knew for sure was that everything hurt. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't ache or pound and the only comfort he could grab onto as he stepped into consciousness was the cool cloth being gently dragged across his face.

"You back with me, son?" Jack asked swiping the cloth across Tony's forehead.

"Boss?" the younger man whispered.

Jack patted Tony's cheek, trying to get those hugely dilated pupils to focus.

"It's me, Tony; it's Jack," the older man replied holding the water bottle to Tony's dry lips. "Small sips, now."

Water, deliciously cool and wet, trickled into his mouth and slid down his parched throat and he started to drink greedily.

"Slow down or you'll puke it back up," Jack scolded gently. "And I reckon I've seen enough of your puke to last a lifetime."

Jack withdrew the bottle as desolate eyes stared at him full of misery and pain. Tony's lips moved as if he would speak but then he was seized in an agonizing spasm, back arching and eyes squeezing shut as his long legs bent and extended trying to relieve the pain.

"Deep breaths, Tony, nice and slow, in and out, that's it, son," Jack encouraged gently. "That's it."

He wasn't sure whether keeping up a steady stream of encouraging words helped Tony but it made him feel a little less helpless. In the half-light, Tony realised that the familiar icy blue eyes stared at him from an older, more weathered face.

"J-Jack?" Tony rasped, groaning as another stomach-ripping spasm hit. He threw back his head and sucked in a lungful of air as every sinew and muscle painfully contracted.

"Where's the pain, son?" Jack asked.

"Sto-stomach hurts…chest…chest hurts…legs…back…head," Tony slurred sibilantly when the worst of the pain had subsided.

"Maybe I should have asked where the pain _isn't,_" Jackson said, his eyes crinkled in a gentle smile.

"W-where are we?"

"We're in the cave," Jack replied, his calm tone belying the depth of his concern. "Don't you remember?"

Tony shook his head then grimaced as his headache eked up a few notches and his stomach protested loudly.

"J-just remember r-running."

"You did it, Tony," the older man said, his voice coloured with pride. "You led that fella away and you made it back here. 'Course, you gave me quite a start when you collapsed."

"How l-long w-was I o-out?" Tony said through chattering teeth.

Jack checked his watch.

"You've been out almost three hours. I don't mind telling ya I was starting to get worried."

Tony's eyes flew open, wide with alarm.

"Th-three h-hours!" he rasped, looking anxiously toward the entrance of the cave.

"Take it easy, I've been keeping watch. The fog's so thick outside my guess is that fella's gone to ground until morning. We're okay, son."

Tony nodded and his body shuddered.

"s'cold, J-Jack," he whispered.

He hated the pathetic sound of his voice and the worry he was causing Jackson but in the world of pain that had become his existence, he needed the older man's strength and he received it without hesitation.

Feeling his chest tighten at Tony's rare admission, Jack leaned his back against the wall of the cave and moved in behind the younger man. He placed an arm around Tony's shoulders and pulled him back against his chest, wincing at the bone-deep tremors as his night-sweats gave way to chills.

"Try to sleep, son," he said, pulling the afghan around them. "It'll be light in a few hours."

Tony nodded silently, desperately trying to ignore the relentless need that circled him like a greedy vulture as the pain and gnawing hunger burned within him.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The chopper put down in the middle of a large field. The local deputy met them and drove them to the office where newly appointed Sheriff Jed McCabe was coordinating the ground search with Corporal Roy Tregear of the Pennsylvania State Police. After the briefest of introductions they moved to a large map of Columbia County and listened as the corporal briefed them.

"The widespread storm damage suffered by several neighbouring counties has severely depleted our manpower," the corporal advised. "We've concentrated our efforts on 11 and 81. There are no reported accidents involving your father's truck. We've also checked at diners and rest stops along both routes; no one's seen them."

"What if they were forced off the highway?" Ziva asked.

"There's a lot of off ramps on both highways and a lot of area to cover. We'll start searching again at sun-up," the corporal replied.

"You search the 118?" Gibbs asked.

"11 and 81 have a much better road surface and more of a direct route to Scranton," the sheriff offered. "Besides, there's a heavy fog cover that's moved in over the state park. Visibility on 118 is no more than three or four yards at ground level. Best to wait until the fog's lifted."

"Easy to say when you're the one out there needing help," McGee stated pointedly.

The door of the office flew open and a gust of icy wind heralded the arrival of Sam and Mavis Newbury.

"Jethro! Am I glad to see you?" Sam blustered. "I've been trying to tell these lug heads for hours that they're looking in the wrong place!"

"It's three in the morning," Gibbs said. "What are you doing here?"

Mavis placed a large cane basket on a nearby desk before pulling Gibbs into a tight hug.

"Was all I could do to keep the old fool from going out and searching alone," she said. "Besides, I thought Tony might need these."

She placed her hand in the pocket of her large overcoat and withdrew Tony's meds and two spare clips. Gibbs took them from her, looking at the clips.

"Beretta," he said.

"Tony is carrying his spare," Ziva stated with a hint of relief.

Sam waved his hands impatiently as he continued.

"These boys here may know search grids and coordinates but I've known your father for nigh on sixty years and I'm telling you, Jack _always_ took 118."

The sheriff sighed in exasperation.

"Look, Agent Gibbs, you said your man was real sick, right? Then it makes sense that Jack would take the fastest route to Scranton. That's 11 or 81."

"Not the way Jack drives," Sam protested before turning pleading eyes to Gibbs. "You think he had that Challenger of yours locked up in the garage all these years? No sir! He took it out for a spin occasionally. Drove that thing like he was at the Indy 500 and he knows every twist and curve on the 118. I'm tellin' ya, Jethro, they're looking in the wrong area."

The corporal challenged. "What makes you so sure?"

"Jack _loves_ the state park. He and Jethro spent a lot of time there when Jethro was a boy. Remember that time you got yourself lost? Jack was sure you'd been eaten by a bear or had fallen down and busted ya leg. We found you the next morning in the cave without a scratch on ya." Sam chuckled. "Never seen Jack so torn between paddling your behind and hugging you senseless."

"Seem to recall he did a bit of both," Gibbs said with a wry smile.

"What I'm trying to say is that, even after all these years, Jack still drives out there whenever he gets a chance. He says it…"

Sam stopped, uncertain whether to complete the sentence and looked to Mavis for help.

"He says it makes him feel closer to you," Mavis said.

Gibbs felt his gut tighten and twist. He cleared the emotion from his throat with a quiet cough.

"McGee?"

"Check in with Abby and the director and find a vehicle we can use. On it, Boss."

"Ziva?"

"First aid supplies and blankets. Right away, Gibbs."

"I've packed some coffee and hot soup for when you find them," Mavis said and this time it was Gibbs who instigated the hug. "You'll find them, Jethro."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

It was a long cold night and Jackson slept through none of it. Endless nausea, fevers and chills had conspired to rob Tony of any kind of respite from the gnawing withdrawals that seemed to be eating him from the inside out. Several times exhaustion took him and Jack felt a wave of relief wash over him as the tortured young face relaxed into innocent sleep. But moments later, painful muscle spasms or terrifying nightmares flung him back to wakefulness leaving him disoriented and confused.

Tony rolled onto his side and hugged his legs close to his chest as his stomach roiled again. His heart was slamming so hard that he almost couldn't breathe. Insidious whispers called to him and refused to be silenced. They goaded and taunted him over and over with the knowledge that the fire raging in his blood could only be iced with one thing. Swallowing the knotted misery in his throat, his breath caught on a sob and he clamped his lips to deny it life.

Another hot flush left him gasping and shoving the blanket aside; moments later he was shivering so violently that Jack could hear his teeth chatter. He felt the heat and weight of Jack's hands as the older man pulled him closer and settled him against his chest. The cave reeked with the pungent odour of Tony's sweat and vomit. He should have been embarrassed in the older man's presence but instead he felt bolstered and comforted.

"M'sorry, Jack," Tony slurred. "S'not what you s-signed on for."

"Not your fault, son," Jack replied calmly. "Besides, I reckon I've been in tighter spots."

"You have?" Tony asked, his brow furrowing deeply.

Jackson pursed his lips and gave a sheepish grin.

"Okay, so maybe not in the last fifty years or so."

In the muted glow of the flashlight, Tony choked out a small sound – a hybrid of a laugh and a sob.

"We're going to get through this, son," Jack said with a reassuring hug. "I dunno how…but we're gonna get through this together."

"He's lookin' for us, Jack," Tony slurred. "Gibbs will find us."

He watched as Tony's eyelids drooped. After each blink, they opened less and less until finally, they stayed closed. His thick eyelashes formed a dark fringe against the purplish crescents of flesh beneath them. Tony slipped into a semi-conscious state, feverish and in too much pain to stay awake any longer but conversely, hurting too much to fall asleep.

Speaking in quiet, soothing tones, Jackson rambled on, talking himself hoarse as he shared stories with his ailing young friend, hoping that Tony would concentrate on his voice as a way to shut out the agony and throwing him a verbal lifeline to grasp when the nightmares and terrors haunted him.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0 **

He hated waiting – always had. His instinct had always been to act, to do _something!_ Yet here he was, taking cover among the ferns and underbrush by the side of the road; waiting and watching for any sign of movement. He shuddered and adjusted the collar of his coat as a trickle of rain ran down the back of his neck.

He'd been tracking DiNozzo in the direction of the 118 when a heavy fog rolled in and shrouded the forest floor, making it impossible for him to track in the dark. Who'd have thought an old man and a strung-out fed would prove to be so difficult to dispose of? He was the first to admit that he was no woodsman – that was not his area of expertise - but he owed Thomas Grayson everything and he would not stop hunting until Tony DiNozzo was dead.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Jack straightened his cramped legs and hissed. His hip throbbed and ached as if the chill from the damp cave had seeped into the marrow of his bones and fused with his exhaustion. He swallowed several mouthfuls of water, feeling the tenderness in his throat that came from talking for hours on end. He didn't know how much Tony had heard or understood but the cadence of his voice seemed to ground the younger man when the pain of muscle spasms became unbearable.

Climbing laboriously to his feet he steadied himself against the cave wall. Glancing over at Tony, Jack observed the sweat-sheen on his young friend's face and the fine tremors running through his body. He appeared to be sleeping after spending the better part of the night thrashing and twisting as the withdrawal ravaged his system. Tony's hair was plastered to his forehead but his chest was rising and falling at a more natural rate.

Walking to the cave's entrance, Jack carefully scanned the area outside before squinting at his watch and noting it was ten minutes to five. It was still dark though a faint lightening on the horizon warned of the soon-approaching sunrise. Light misted rain still fell and the thick fog that had blanketed the ground was starting to dissipate.

"Where are you, Leroy?" he muttered.

"S'coming, Jack," Tony whispered from the darkness. "He's coming."

"Was kinda hoped you were sleeping. How ya feeling?"

Tony hesitated as he performed a self-assessment of his pain-wracked body.

"I'm fine," he said at last.

Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow in a very Gibbs-like fashion.

"You really hoped I'd buy that, didn't ya, son?" he stated.

Tony's pale face morphed into the look of innocence he'd spent his life perfecting. Over the years it had served him well...that is, until he met Gibbs…and now Jackson. Shrugging off the unwanted scrutiny Tony glanced around the cave in the half-light.

"Love what you've done with the place," he remarked looking at the crumpled afghan and tarp. "Very chic."

"I may be responsible for the decorating, young man, but credit for the aroma's all yours."

Tony wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell.

"Pee-ew," he replied, scrubbing his hands across his face. "Time s'it?"

"Nearly sunrise," Jack said.

"Time to go," Tony groaned as he willed his abused muscles to move and climbed shakily to his feet. He seemed to be going paler by the second as Jackson gave him an assessing look.

"You sure you're up to this?"

"I'm sure," Tony said firmly.

Jack's eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't lie to me would you, son?"

Tony's lips quirked in a half smile and Jack huffed out a laugh then looked around the cave.

"It's gonna be a lot easier for that man to follow our tracks in the daylight. Won't be long before he realises you doubled back. We've gotta get moving."

Tony's concern skyrocketed as Jackson limped heavily toward him.

"Jack?"

"This old hip of mine's a bit stiff this morning," he said, waving off Tony's concern. "Nothing to worry about."

Wrapping his arm around Tony's waist the two men supported each other as they shuffled awkwardly to the mouth of the cave.

"Don't like our chances if we have to make a run for it," Jack said.

"On the plus side, we're a sure bet to win the three-legged race at the NCIS picnic," Tony quipped.

"Well now, young fella…you got yourself a partner," Jack chuckled.

Jackson recognised the forced cheerfulness in his young friend's voice and he didn't like it. A night of hallucinations and vomiting had drawn on his every reserve. He was holding on too hard, wasting strength he didn't have on trying to reassure him. The levity was short-lived as Tony straightened; his face was set like stone.

"Jack, if he finds us, you gotta let me handle it," he said sombrely.

"Don't go worrying about me, son," Jack told him. "I come from a long line of horse traders."

"I mean it Jack," Tony stressed. "You get the chance; you get the hell outta Dodge and find a place to hide til Gibbs arrives."

"Now wait a minute, son, I'm not just gonna leave you-"

"I'm a federal agent, Jack; I'm trained for this kind of thing." Tony took a calming breath before adding. "I'll distract him as long as I can but you have to get away. Please Jack...it might be our only chance."

The quiet desperation in Tony's eyes caused Jack to swallow his protest. He nodded his head and tightened his grip around Tony's waist.

"We gotta a long walk ahead of us," he said. "We best get moving."

The sun was just beginning to send a few timid streams of light through the dark sky as they left the shelter of the cave and headed for the fire tower.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

They saw the skid marks and broken glass the minute they rounded the blind corner. Gibbs pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and activated the hazard lights. The badly damaged guardrail grabbed McGee's attention as he climbed from the vehicle.

"Boss?" he called kneeling to inspect the damage. "Paintwork's black maybe navy – whatever hit the rail, it wasn't Jack's pick-up and it would've been pretty badly damaged. "

"There are two sets of skid marks," Ziva said as Gibbs joined her in the middle of the deserted road.

"One vehicle stopped here," Gibbs determined. "The other came around the corner, swerved to miss it and hit the guardrail."

"There was quite a fire fight," the Israeli added slipping on a latex glove and picking up a shell casing. "9mm Remington."

McGee did likewise from several yards away.

"Speer Gold Dot," he said reading the brand from another casing. "Had to be Tony."

Gibbs nodded, knowing Tony preferred to use the Speer Gold Dot ammunition. DiNozzo was a small weapons expert who was trained to shoot to kill. But the number of empty shell casings and the lack of a corpse, pointed to the fact that his agent was well below his best. Frowning, Gibbs sniffed the air and turned back to the middle of the road. Taking a knee, he ran his gloved fingers lightly through a sizeable oil slick on the asphalt that the rain had not completely washed away.

"Motor oil," he stated. "No way this vehicle makes it to the next town. McGee?"

"Already on it, Boss," the IT Specialist said placing his laptop on the seat of the car and rapidly keying the information he required. "According to the map the nearest turn off is half a mile from here but it looks more like a walking trail than a road."

Gibbs was already dialling the sat phone.

"Sam?"

"Jethro, you find them?"

"Working on it," he replied. "Topographical map shows some kind of trail about four miles due south of the valley. Any idea what that is?"

"Four miles due south of…oh you mean the old fire trail," Sam told him. "They closed it down a few years back and opened a bigger track further east. Probably all overgrown by now but it leads to an unmanned fire tower 'bout 8 mile from the start of the track."

"Jack knows about the tower?"

"Your old man knows every inch of that state park, boy. He'd know about the tower."

Gibbs concluded the call and hurried back to the Jeep with his team on his heels.

A cold foreboding crawled up his spine but he shoved it aside. They would do this; they would find his father and his agent and bring them safely home.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

They pushed their way through the dense ferns, shaded from the warmth of the rising sun by the towering canopy of the large trees. The rain, which seemed to sweep over them in broken showers, was once again pouring down; soaking their clothes and completing their misery.

After only twenty minutes of walking Tony was faltering badly despite his earlier assurances that he could make it. He stumbled and nearly went down. Jackson grimaced and struggled to hold his weight until the younger man got his feet under him again. Keeping his eyes on the ground, Tony concentrated solely on putting one foot in front of the other.

Unable to think past the pain, the darkness within him returned, pulling at the edges of his mind and threatening to drag him irretrievably into its depths. He ruthlessly buried it deep in his subconscious but he could feel it growing stronger and more determined with each passing minute. He pressed one tight fist against the throbbing behind his eyes as his legs faltered again and Jack lowered him to the ground against the trunk of a large tree. Tony groaned as his stomach contracted painfully; his mouth filled with bilious fluids and he rolled onto his knees retching and gasping as he tried desperately to pull some air into his heaving lungs. The heat and weight of Jack's hand on his back offered silent reassurance and steadfast support. When the nausea subsided, Tony rolled onto his back, barely able to lift his head yet making an effort to sit up.

"Rest a few minutes, son," Jack instructed, placing a firm yet gentle hand on Tony's shoulder to ensure compliance.

Tony shrugged him off and then looked up with determined eyes.

"Gotta keep moving," he said reaching out his hand. "Help me up."

Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck trying to ease the tension and then exhaled a long breath through tightly clenched teeth.

"Of all the obstinate, bone-headed…"

"You wanna channel your son, Jack, you gotta bust out the head slap," he told him with a crooked grin.

Jackson accepted the humour for what it was - an attempt to shore up a crumbling facade.

"Forget about the head slap, son," Jack grinned pulling Tony to his feet. "I gotta few moves of my own and the shape you're in, I reckon I could take ya on my worst day."

Clouds shrouded the rising sun throwing rippling shadows in the uncertain light. Tony's blood ran cold as the metallic click of a safety disengaged from behind them and a tall, redheaded man emerged from the forest with a semi-automatic handgun held in a steady two-handed grip. Taking a deep breath Tony met Jack's gaze; his eyes silently pleading for the older man to stay quiet and make a run for it when he got the chance. He turned slowly toward the gunman, careful to keep his body between Jackson and the weapon.

"You led me on quite a chase," the man said coolly. "Step away from the old man."

"It's me you want," Tony said. "Let him go. He's not part of this."

"The hell I'm not," Jack protested defiantly, earning a scorching look from Tony.

"He's an old man with a bad hip," Tony added. "Leave him here. You'll be long gone before he gets back to the road."

The man pursed his lips then gave a shake of his head.

"Afraid I can't do that," he replied. "He's seen me; he'll be able to identify me."

"You're damn right I will," Jack answered, stepping out from behind Tony.

"Not helping, Jack," Tony hissed.

Turning back to the gunman Tony's heart stopped as the man brandished his weapon in Jack's direction and his finger tightened on the trigger. A rush of adrenaline infused him, driving away his fatigue. Moving with startling alacrity, Tony threw himself sideways and grabbed for the weapon, wrapping his long fingers over the other man's and hanging on desperately.

The two grappled - the barrel of the gun pointing dangerously from one to the other in their struggle. With a deafening crack the gun fired, the bullet missing Tony's head by the barest of margins. He felt his remaining strength draining quickly and hoped like hell that Jackson had made a break for the forest. The man released one hand from the gun and, shifting his centre of gravity, unleashed a blow with two hundred pounds of muscle behind it. The pain in Tony's stomach was immediate and shockingly intense and his breath exploded from his chest in an audible rush. He hung on gamely but a second blow to his stomach sent him crashing to the ground.

White-hot pain exploded in his chest. He squeezed his eyes closed as wave after wave of nausea assailed him. From what seemed like a great distance he heard Jack's voice calling his name and he felt the older man supporting him as he heaved and expelled strings of saliva and bile.

"Step away from him, old man," the gunman said calmly.

Jack's large hand gently cupped Tony's flushed and sweaty face and he was startled at the open expression of emotion gazing back at him from his young friend's anguished eyes.

"Why d-didn't you leave?" Tony rasped.

Jack smiled sadly.

"You really have to ask?"

Climbing awkwardly to his feet, Jack stood tall and turned defiantly toward the gunman.

"No, Jack!" Tony wheezed desperately hanging onto consciousness as his vision started to dim.

"It's okay, son," Jack replied calmly.

"I'll say this for you, old man, you got guts," the gunman said. "It'll be a shame to have kill you."

"You should know...anything happens to me or this young fella, my son will hunt you down," Jack told him.

The gunman huffed out a laugh.

"Is that so?" he asked condescendingly. "Who's your son?"

"I am." The sound of Gibbs' menacing tone was in stark contrast to his calm façade as he stepped out from the cover of the nearby trees. "Drop the weapon."

Trapped between seconds, time stood still as the gunman considered his options. A roar erupted from his chest and his face contorted with fury as he raised his gun and fired twice. Gibbs threw himself to his left, hitting the ground and rolling as the two projectiles passed uncomfortably close. Years of training kicked in and he returned fire with two quick rounds of his own. He watched the man twitch and jerk in a macabre dance as the rapid-fire bullets double-tapped his heart and he collapsed to the ground.

Running at a crouch with their weapons drawn and ready, Ziva and McGee appeared from opposite sides of the small clearing. McGee kicked the weapon from the gunman's lifeless fingers then cautiously leaned forward and took the man's pulse. Looking in Gibbs' direction, the younger man shook his head.

"Call it in," Gibbs said in acknowledgement. "Get the Medivac in here now."

The former Marine glanced anxiously at his father. Jackson appeared uninjured and was strenuously rejecting Ziva's attempts to wrap an emergency blanket around his shoulders and check him for injuries. He looked tired and dirty and…old but he was alive and that was all that mattered. The relief that washed over him was extinguished instantly when his gaze fell upon Tony sprawled unmoving in the dirt.

Taking a knee beside his agent, Gibbs felt a sickening rush of fear surge through him as he placed a splayed hand on Tony's chest. Frowning at the rapid beat of his heart and the shallow respirations he took hold of the younger man's chin and turned his face toward him.

"Tony?" he said, tapping his agent's cheek when there was no reply. "Tony, open your eyes."

Through trial and error, Gibbs had learned that, Tony responded best to his command voice.

"DiNozzo!"

It wasn't a bark but somehow it sounded like an order and suddenly Tony's eyelids started to flutter and his lips moved without sound. Swimming back to reality out of the depths of a dreamless sleep, Tony felt cool fingers press against his pulse. His eyes opened suddenly, wide and confused; his pupils dilated to black disks almost eclipsing the green iris. Pain flared in his chest as he struggled against the hands holding him down.

"Easy," Gibbs said. "Take it easy."

His words were abrupt with no concession to Tony's obviously fragile state but the concerned way he continued to check his agent's condition belied his brusqueness. It took long several long anxious seconds before recognition crept back into the wild eyes and Tony whispered, "Boss?"

A hint of a smile ghosted across the lead agent's face. Pulling in a shaky lungful of air, he let it out in a slow, calming stream.

"Can't leave you alone for five minutes," Gibbs growled without rancour.

Tremors built, ascending to the point that Tony's teeth began to chatter and he jerked up with his heart thundering in his ears.

"Jack?"

"He's fine. Ziva's got him. Stay still, let me check you over."

Easing the younger man back onto the ground, Gibbs ran his hands down each of Tony's arms and legs wincing at the heat and the constant trembling. When his hands reached a spot just above Tony's waist, a rib shifted and his agent sucked in a sharp gulp of air and writhed in agony.

"Easy, DiNozzo, I had to check," Gibbs said.

"Check what? My p-pain threshold?" Tony quipped.

He was clearly trying to hide his pain but the half-strangled voice and sheen of sweat on his face gave him away.

"Busted that r-rib again, huh Boss?"

The welcome sound of a helicopter was heard in the distance as McGee re-joined the group carrying an electrolyte drink from his pack and draping a blanket around Tony's shoulders.

"Boss, the Medivac will be here in five. They'll set down in a large clearing about 500 yards back. Want me to get a stretcher?"

"No!" Tony answered firmly.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow to his senior field agent anticipating the response.

"Don't…don't n-need the s-stretcher, Boss," Tony replied determinedly through chattering teeth. "W-walked in…I'll w-walk out. Help m-me up."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and with McGee on Tony's other side they carefully lifted him to his feet, not releasing their grip until they were sure the injured man wasn't going to fall on his ass. Jack leaned wearily against Ziva as they made their way back to the others.

"How is he?" Ziva asked, knowing better than to ask Tony if she wanted a truthful answer.

"Stubborn, pigheaded, obstinate…" Gibbs listed.

"In other words, he's fine," McGee smiled, hoping the usual banter would help.

"You all know t-that I can h-hear you, r-right?" Tony asked, swaying dangerously and getting paler by the second.

He turned his attention to Jack; the older man's blue eyes were edged with grateful moisture but Tony's expression hardened and his eyes flashed angrily.

"You l-lied to me, J-Jack," he said tersely as the others exchanged concerned glances.

"Tony…I'm sorry, son, I just-"

"Hummingbirds _don't_ have wieners."

The glint of humour in his eyes drained along with the remaining colour in his face as his eyes lost focus and rolled back. When his knees buckled he pitched forward and Gibbs was there to catch him - just like always. Tony was a dead weight as Gibbs lowered them both to the ground, feeling the twinge of protest from his knee and pulling the younger man against his chest.

The lead agent huffed in exasperation and gave a small shake of his head.

"Dammit, DiNozzo," he cursed softly. "McGee?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"Get the damn stretcher."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N ~ A non-cliffhanger chapter from me is about as rare as a wiener on a hummingbird. I hope you enjoyed it, L **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

A/N:- Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the storyline flowing - in particular, I am quite sure the prosecution could successfully petition for a postponement of the hearing until the witness was sufficiently recovered...but that's not nearly as much fun.

Also, recent revelations regarding Season 10 have Billy Dee Williams guest starring as Jackson's friend and business partner LJ. In this story and the prequel Withdrawal it is assumed that LJ was dead - little did I know that he was actually residing on Cloud City as the Administrator before joining the Rebel Alliance. Apologies for the AU. L

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Six**

"Where we headed, Lieutenant?" Gibbs said into his headset.

"Scranton, Sir," the young co-pilot replied. "We've got clearance to use the heliport at the NEPA Trauma Centre. Director Vance has called ahead for a team of Marine guards to meet us there."

"Roger that," Gibbs said.

Concerned eyes fell upon the stretcher where his senior agent was receiving attention from the medic. Caught in the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep, Tony moved restlessly; his body twitched and jerked as muscle spasms continued to torment him. Sweating profusely and flushed with fever, his breathing was rapid and shallow as he struggled against the pain of broken ribs. The medic secured an oxygen mask before checking Tony's pupil response. He flicked uncertain eyes in Gibbs' direction.

"Corpsman?" Gibbs asked.

"Sir, Agent DiNozzo is diaphoretic and his heart and pulse rates are off the chart," he said. "I'll keep him on oxygen and start him on a saline drip but I don't want to give him anything that could cause complications."

"Understood," Gibbs replied knowing it was a short flight to the hospital.

Glancing to his left, his agents looked as weary as he felt – it had been a long and exhausting night. Though clearly in pain from his bad hip, Jackson had steadfastly refused to lie down on the other stretcher and sat dozing between Ziva and McGee. Gibbs shook his head in exasperation; nothing had changed; the old man was still as stubborn as a mule and tough as old boots.

Tony muttered incoherently and tossed his head trying to dislodge the mask. Gibbs moved quickly to his agent's side and placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Lie still," he said brusquely.

Tony's breathing began to even out and he slipped back into a restless sleep. McGee and Ziva exchanged a knowing look, no longer surprised at the calming affect their boss had on an ailing or distressed DiNozzo.

Once Tony had settled, Gibbs looked out the window and gathered the tatters of his self-control. Sucking in a lungful of air he allowed the relief to wash over him and just as quickly forced his emotions deep inside where they belonged. His father and Tony were safe…and he was going to make damn sure they stayed that way.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"This totally sucks," Abby whispered into the ear of her flatulent toy hippo.

Even after all these years, she had never grown used to her friends - her non-biological family - running head long into danger while she waited for their return in the safety of her lab. Looking around her much-loved laboratory, she huffed out a nervous laugh.

"Ari once fired a shot through that window over there," she told Bert as she hugged him tightly to her chest. "And I was standing right by that work bench when Chip tried to fillet me with a carving knife. My ex-boyfriend-turned-stalking-psycho, Mikel, was watching me through that window just over there…and McGee and I were standing by that counter when that lunatic sabotaged my evidence with cyanide gas and then hired a hit man to kidnap me by pretending he was a federal marshal driving me to court."

"O-kay, so maybe I'm starting to realise that my lab isn't the safest place in the world," she conceded.

A sudden uneasy feeling washed over her and she turned in a slow circle to ensure she was alone. Footsteps sounded outside her door, drawing ever closer. She armed herself with the can of mace and the rape-whistle she kept in her purse and dashed across the room, cursing the clomping of her platform boots. Pressing herself against the wall by the door, she gasped as the man casting a shadow in her doorway slowly entered.

The ear-piercing shrill of the rape-whistle sounded an instant before Abby leapt from her hiding place brandishing the can of mace.

"Freeze dirt-bag. I have a can of mace and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Her eyes widened in alarm as she watched the man leap a foot into the air while juggling a large container of Caf-Pow that tumbled out of his grip and spilled its sickly sweet liquid over the floor. Snatching the whistle from her dark lips, the man placed his hands over his ears trying to stop the reverberation in his head.

"For heaven's sake, Abigail, what on earth has got into you?" he demanded.

"Ducky!" Abby exclaimed. "I thought you were a pervert."

"Not only is your character assessment frightfully inaccurate, I find it rather offensive."

"Oh, Ducky, I'm sorry…I didn't mean…I was just…it doesn't matter," she said, waving off the explanation. "What are you doing here?"

Ducky pointed to the now-empty Caf-Pow container lying on the floor but it was his coy smile and the twinkle in his eye that drew her attention.

"They found them?" she asked.

"Indeed they did," he answered.

"And…they're okay?"

"They are on board the Medivac and on their way to the hospital at Scranton." Ducky replied as Abby pulled him into a crushing hug. She pulled away suddenly, holding him by the shoulders.

"Medivac? What's wrong?"

"According to Timothy's radio report, both Anthony and Jackson are suffering from exhaustion and exposure to the elements," Ducky said. "Anthony may also have re-fractured his ribs."

"Why take them to Scranton? Why not bring them home?" Abby persisted.

"Because Scranton has the nearest medical facility," Ducky explained patiently. "Ziva and Timothy will stay with them until the marine protection team arrives, then they will escort the body of the gunman back here to the Navy yard."

Abby ran through to the far section of her lab.

"Abigail?" Ducky called after her. "Are you all right?"

She reappeared with a cape draped around her shoulders and carrying her handbag and parasol.

"I'm ready, lets go."

Ducky looked genuinely disheartened.

"I'm afraid not, my dear," he said. "The most effective way for us to help Anthony is to stay right here and do what we do best."

"Dance?"

"No, by applying our scientific expertise and finding the evidence to convict Thomas Grayson."

"Right, I totally knew that. I don't know why I keep saying dance."

"There'll be plenty of time for dancing when Grayson is behind bars and we bring our boy home, hmm?"

Abby chewed her lower lip anxiously.

"I need to talk to him, Ducky. I miss him, like, so much."

"I know you do, Abigail," Ducky said with a mischievous grin as he returned the object he taken from her. "But in the meantime, should you need me…just whistle."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tossing a three-year-old sports magazine back into the magazine rack, Gibbs climbed to his feet and stretched the stiffness and tension from his back and neck. He threw an irritated glance at the nearby closed door behind which Doctor Sam Mahoney and a nurse were settling Tony and Jackson into a private room.

An hour before, a team of four Marines had arrived as a protection detail and now stood at parade rest either side of the door. Ziva and McGee were bound for Washington on the Navy Sea King, accompanying the body of the gunman back to Ducky for autopsy and identification.

After what seemed like hours, Dr Mahoney and the nurse left the room and the doctor approached the anxious lead agent.

"How they doing?" Gibbs asked.

"As we discussed downstairs, the results from the MRI suggest the pain in your father's hip is due to soft tissue damage. We'll give him something for the pain." The doctor smiled admiringly. "He's a tough old bird."

A grin tugged at the corner of Gibbs mouth.

"That he is," he concurred. "What about my agent?"

"I consulted by phone with Captain Taylor who treated Agent DiNozzo at Bethesda," Mahoney continued. "We agreed that what he needs most right now is rest, fluids and to resume his Subutex regime. We've given him enough sedative to take the edge of the withdrawals but the effects are still rather unpleasant, I'm afraid."

"What about his ribs?"

"He's re-fractured the eighth and ninth ribs," the doctor replied. "We've strapped them to give him extra support but the best treatment is reduced activity, keep him resting and keep him still."

"Not likely," Gibbs scoffed. "When can they leave?"

"The sedative I gave Tony should keep him under for about eight hours. If there are no complications you can take them both home at…" the doctor checked his watch. "About 4pm."

"Good enough," Gibbs said shaking the man's hand.

"Oh, and only Nurse Lindsay and myself will need access to the room. No one else will bother you while you're here."

"Can I see them?"

"Of course," the doctor replied. "They're both sleeping but you're welcome to sit with them."

Nodding his thanks, Gibbs approached the door to the room and the Marines separated to allow him access. The room was darkened and the curtains drawn as he entered silently and stood between the two beds. Looking to his left, he studied his father's face; deep lines born not only from a long life but also from the older man's own sorrow and grief. He was relieved to see the pain had eased from Jack's face as he slept.

Looking to his right, his heart lurched as he took a closer look at his agent. A nasal cannula provided oxygen while an IV replenished the much-needed fluids Tony was continuing to lose as he sweated profusely. His eyes darted back and forth under purplish eyelids while his long legs moved continuously under the covers. A deep frown and constant trembling evidenced that, despite the doctor's best efforts, the pain of withdrawal had followed the younger man into his drug-induced sleep.

Tony jerked awake, disoriented but ready to come up fighting. His chest heaved and glazed green eyes darted frantically around the room looking for some unseen assailant. Pain flared in his chest as he struggled to rise and was stopped by the firm hand on his shoulder.

"Easy," Gibbs whispered gently pushing his agent back against the pillows.

Unable to keep his eyes open, Tony thought he heard Gibbs' voice from far away but he was too far-gone and he surrendered once again to the pull of the sedative.

Running agitated fingers through his short, silver hair, Gibbs sighed deeply and tried to collect the scattered fragments of his composure

"Nightmares," Jack's sounded from behind him. "He has a lot of 'em."

"You should be resting," Gibbs said curtly.

"I'm lying in a bed, Leroy! Unless you wanna give me some of what the Doc gave Tony, this is about as restful as it gets!" Jackson replied with more than a hint of annoyance. Calming himself he added. "I tell ya son, that young fella never stopped believing you'd find us out there in the forest. And even as sick as he was, he never once hesitated to put himself in harm's way to protect me."

"He's a federal agent, Dad, that's what he's trained to do," Gibbs replied, strangely irritated at his father.

"He's a lot more than that, son," Jackson shot back angrily. "And you darn well know it."

Frustrated beyond reason, Jackson rolled onto his side, ignoring the pain in his hip as he turned away from his son. Exhaustion claimed him in minutes and he was snoring softly as Gibbs pulled the covers over his father's shoulder and looked back at his sleeping agent.

"Yeah, Dad…yeah I know it."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

McGee and Ziva returned to the Navy yard and ensured the gunman's body was delivered to Ducky in Autopsy. In the subsequent hours, the IT Specialist had focussed on decrypting the security protocol of the Grayson's account. Even with Keating's help the task was proving frustratingly difficult but this was his wheelhouse, this was where he excelled and McGee was determined not to let his team down.

As expected the gunman was not carrying any ID and a fingerprint scan failed to produce a match on AFIS. However, the man's shoe matched perfectly with the casting of the size 51 Jome Sports shoe that had been found outside the safe house which placed the gunman at the scene where Agents Young and Wallace and Billy Matthews had been murdered. As a matter of course, Abby submitted a strand of the man's hair for DNA testing but she had already determined his "Rock Out Red" hair colouring matched that of a hair particle located near the body of Agent Wallace.

Ducky and Palmer had completed the autopsy and sent the requisite samples to Abby for testing. Checking the contents of the man's stomach, she determined he had ingested Spanish cuisine within the last 72 hours...and unintentionally turned McGee off paella forever.

With the shoe, the food and the tracking device that had been attached to Commander Barnes car all being made or manufactured in Spain, Abby accessed Homeland Security's Arrival Departure Information System, focussing on arrivals from Spain within a 72-hour period. In a matter of minutes her babies twittered excitedly and revealed the man's identity as - William Arthur Stockton, US citizen now residing in Madrid, Spain.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"He needs more time," Gibbs protested angrily down the phone line. "I just got him home from the damn hospital."

"We're out of time," the commander replied. "My petition for a postponement was denied and the hearing is set for tomorrow."

"You're the hot shot attorney, Commander, do something!"

"You think I like this, Gibbs?" Pete shot back. "If I thought I could spare Tony from this by cutting off my right arm I'd be reaching for a rusty knife. These are subpoenas, legal and binding. I'm sorry but there's nothing else I can do."

Gibbs rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and expelled a deep breath.

"Scott has convinced Judge Brayden that we don't have sufficient evidence or probable cause to hold Grayson over for trial," Pete said. "Worse case scenario, if Grayson walks we'll request a new preliminary hearing as soon as we have sufficient evidence to proceed."

"Worse case scenario, Commander, is that if Grayson walks, DiNozzo's a marked man. Grayson will hunt him down and be on the first plane to the Cayman Islands where we can't touch him."

"That's why we need anything and everything your team can get on Grayson now!"

"We're working on it," Gibbs said, frowning as Pete excused himself to speak with someone in his office.

"The subpoenas have just arrived," he said reading aloud. "You, Tony, McGee, Doctor Mallard and Director Vance."

"The director and I are Tony's supervisors," Gibbs said. "But why Ducky and McGee?"

"Scott is trying to stall our investigation. He knows McGee is the IT Specialist – if he's in court he's not decrypting the account," the commander explained.

"We need McGee decrypting that account!"

"I'll get him on the stand early and get him out early so he can get back to the office but if Scott calls McGee as a rebuttal or expert witness he won't be able to leave until court is adjourned."

"What about Ducky? Why would Scott call Ducky?"

"I don't know, Gibbs, but whatever it is, it doesn't auger well for Tony."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Ziva entered the forensics lab with a spring in her step and found McGee, Abby, Ducky and Palmer together.

"Good, you are all here," she said. "I have news. I spoke with a clerk at the car rental facility on J Street. He completed the paperwork and rented the SUV to a man without ever meeting him."

"Isn't that against policy?" Palmer asked.

"It's against the law," McGee answered.

"Correct," Ziva said. "He received five thousand dollars cash and instructions on where to leave the vehicle but he never saw the driver."

"Surely this must have aroused the man's suspicion?" Ducky asked.

"Money talks, Duckman," Abby replied. "He was five thousand dollars richer and the SUV was insured against theft."

"Yes, yes," Ziva said waving them off impatiently. "But here is the best part…the driver's licence photo matches our dead gunman and I have a name!"

"William Arthur Stockton," the others said in unison.

The Israelis mouth hung open comically.

"Abby accessed Homeland Security's ADIS system," McGee explained. "We know who he is but we just haven't found the link to Grayson."

"Then maybe I can help," Tobias Fornell said from the doorway.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Even with two Marines posted at the back of the residence and two guarding the front of the store, Gibbs left little to chance. Checking and rechecking the perimeter he was determined that no one would get to his agent – not on his watch.

Mavis and Sam Newbury closed the store early but refused to go home. Although he huffed in exasperation, if Gibbs was honest with himself he felt easier knowing the older couple were safe. Mavis busied herself in the kitchen while Sam and Jack played checkers and spoke quietly in the living room.

Tony had passed most of the drive home and the subsequent hours in a drug-induced haze, slipping in and out of restless sleep. Despite restarting his Subutex regime and spending eight hours on a drip to aid hydration, there was no miracle cure for narcotic withdrawals.

In his sleep, his mind was allowed free rein and it took advantage of that freedom, letting loose with dark and twisted dreams that spoke in the voices of those who had injected heroin into his veins. He heard himself cursing and screaming at them as he fought with everything he had to get away. They pinned him to the filthy mattress, laughing and goading as he pleaded for them not to inject him.

"No!"

The sound of his own shout jolted him out of sleep, his harsh breathing the only sound in the darkened room. But in the darkness behind his eyes lurked thoughts he didn't want to contemplate.

Jack struggled to his feet and hobbled to Tony's bedside an instant later, ignoring Gibbs' call for him to wait. The former Marine leaned against the doorjamb watching with concern as Jack kept up a steady stream of encouraging words that seemed to help.

Tony's usual bloody-minded self-reliance had never taken kindly to Gibbs or anyone else mothering him and the fact that he would submit so readily to Jackson's ministrations told Gibbs more about his agent's state of mind than anything else could.

"DiNozzo, get cleaned up. Chows on in five," he said before leaving the room with Jack's eyes boring holes into his back.

Ten minutes later, Tony entered the dining area with Jackson keeping a steadying hand on his arm. Still in his sweats and socks, his hair was spiked in odd directions and his eyes were circled with dark smudges that spoke of multiple sleepless nights. Tony rubbed his knuckles over his face, surprised at the stubble as tried to remember the last time he'd shaved.

"I've made you some broth," Mavis said, placing the bowl in front of Tony. "You really should try to eat something."

His stomach felt raw and uneasy, ready to rebel again at the slightest provocation.

"Thanks," he said offering a weak attempt of his usual grin.

As Sam tried valiantly to engage the others in lively conversation, Gibbs watched Tony stir the broth without taking a spoonful and then push the bowl toward the centre of the table.

Gibbs reached for the bowl and placed back in front of his agent.

"Eat," he said.

Tony's red-rimmed eyes flashed angrily as he pushed the bowl away again, this time with enough force that some of the broth accidentally spilled onto the table. Green eyes locked with blue in a battle of wills.

"It was an accident," Mavis said hoping to break the tension. "Let me get you a fresh bowl."

"No!" Tony snapped grabbing her hand as she reached across him. "I'm…I'm sorry, I'm just not hungry."

She gently smoothed the spikes of his hair with her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the top of his head.

"No harm done," she smiled.

"Tony," Gibbs said gently. "Eat the damn soup."

"You heard him, Leroy, he doesn't want it," Jack protested.

Tony gasped and squeezed his eyes tightly closed as his abdomen constricted painfully.

Jack placed his hand over the younger man's and squeezed.

"Just breathe, Tony," he said. "That's it, nice and slow, in and out."

When the spasms finally eased off, the younger man could barely hold up his head.

"I'm gonna hit the rack," he rasped.

Climbing gingerly to his feet he stopped long enough to give Mavis a sad smile and place a kiss on her cheek before walking shakily back to his room.

"You should go easy on the boy, son," Jack said firmly.

"He needs to eat, Dad," Gibbs defended.

"He'll eat when he's ready," Jack shot back. "You can't just head slap him into doing what you want."

"What I want? You really think this is what I want?"

"Can't you see what this is? He doesn't believe he can beat this thing!"

"All the more reason to show him that he can!" Gibbs growled.

Tony's bedroom door slammed and the two men stared accusingly at each other. Jack took another five seconds to contain his breathing and his temper then pushed back from the table.

"I'll be with Tony," he said as he limped heavily toward the guest room.

Finding his own appetite had disappeared; Gibbs excused himself and headed for the back porch. The slamming of the back door and the icy glare from the former gunnery sergeant was all it took for the Marine guard to give the man a little space and move to the far end of the porch. Gibbs took some deep cleansing breaths and allowed the peace and cool of the evening to soothe him.

He tensed as he heard the soft click of the door opening and closing and the sound of footsteps behind him. The arms of a woman he'd known his whole life wrapped around his waist from behind as she rested her forehead between his shoulder blades.

"Don't know why I expected things would change," he said softly.

"Change doesn't just happen, Jethro, you have to make it happen," Mavis said. "Talk to him. Tell him how you feel."

"I don't _know_ how I feel."

Mavis moved to stand beside him and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"I think you do," she said firmly as she took his hand in hers. "You and I both know that life is never the same for anyone who's suffered the loss of a child. You may find touches of happiness now and then but you never, ever fill the void in your heart. The loss of Shannon and Kelly devastated Jack…and then he lost you, too."

"He brought a date to their funeral," Gibbs said.

"She wasn't just a date, Jethro, Kathryn was a nice woman that Jack had been seeing for months."

"I didn't know."

"You didn't ask," she scolded gently. "Both of your lives were shattered when Shannon and Kelly died. You were no longer a husband and father and Jack was no longer a Grandpa. Your hurt and your pride drove such a big wedge between you that you forgot how to be father and son."

Uncomfortable with the subject matter, Gibbs sighed heavily and looked away but Mavis placed a gentle hand on his cheek and turned his face toward hers.

"Jethro, your mom was my best friend and I loved her like a sister. It wasn't easy to watch your dad with other women. But life moves on, sweetheart, and there's no going back…three ex-wives tells me you understand that now. Having Tony here has been good for Jack and they've grown close…but you're his son…it's you he's missed."

"He knew where to find me."

Mavis huffed a laugh.

"That's exactly what he said about you. It may have been grief that tore you apart but it sure as heck was the Gibbs pride that kept you there. I know it's not easy…but your Dad's not getting any younger."

Gibbs signed audibly.

"I'm trying," he said.

Mavis wrapped him in a hug and whispered in his ear.

"Try harder."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Thomas Grayson's face flushed with fury as he slammed both hands on the table, surged to his feet and began pacing in the confines of the small room. Across the room, his attorney Cameron Scott looked grim.

"You're sure?" Grayson snarled.

Scott nodded.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. I know you were close."

"And DiNozzo?"

"He's alive. The prosecution petitioned for the hearing to be postponed citing that one witness had been murdered and the other was seriously ill and required more time to recover. The petition was denied and the hearing will continue tomorrow as planned."

"_Goddamn DiNozzo! _First Evan and now…" Grayson leaned over the table and hissed through tightly clenched teeth. "I want him dead, I want him to suffer like he's never suffered before and I want him to regret the day he messed with my family."

"We play this right and we can destroy DiNozzo without laying a finger on him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we let DiNozzo take the stand and we go for the jugular," Scott leaned back in his chair with a predatory smile and clasped his fingers behind his head. "This is what you pay me for Thomas…this is what I do best."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Sometime around midnight, Gibbs sat alone in the living room watching the glow of the embers slowly die in the fireplace. The others had turned in for the night but the sound of Tony pacing the bedroom floor – unable or unwilling to allow himself to sleep – had compelled him to have a discussion he was not looking forward to.

Pouring a cup of coffee and swiping a bottle of water from the fridge he crossed the floor to Tony's room, knocked quietly on the door and entered without waiting for a reply. Tony was slumped low in the armchair and staring blindly into the shadows.

"Mind if I sit?"

"It's your room, Boss," the younger man said quietly.

"Hasn't been my room since the bicentennial," Gibbs replied, handing Tony the bottled water.

"Yeah, well, Jack still calls it your room."

Gibbs felt a twinge of guilt.

Never one for beating around the bush, the former gunny told Tony about the safe house being hit and the death of Billy Matthews and the two agents. He continued on advising him that the hearing was scheduled for tomorrow and he brought Tony up to date with the status of the investigation. As the younger man listened his breathing began to quicken. The panic that had been fluttering on the periphery of his mind took hold with a vengeance as his long forgotten flight instinct took over.

"I can't stay here. Jack could have been killed today because of me."

"Because of Grayson, not you," Gibbs told him firmly.

"We lost two more agents. Who's next? McGee, Ziva…_Abby_? I need to go."

He climbing to his feet, threw his duffle on the bed and began throwing his clothes haphazardly into the bag.

"If you go…Grayson walks. That what you want?"

Tony laughed humourlessly.

"This stopped being about what I wanted a long time ago."

"Where would you go?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know...I can disappear; I'll change states. Grayson will never find me."

"He'll never stop looking for you," Gibbs said. "You willing to throw away your entire life?"

This time Tony's laugh bordered on hysteria.

"What life? Look at me, Boss! What kind of life is this?"

He turned desolate eyes, full of misery and pain, to his boss.

"Won't always be like this, Tony."

"You don't know that! Hell, _I _don't even know that!"

"Yeah, I do," the former Marine drawled. "So do you."

As Tony picked up the bottle of Subutex to toss them into his bag, reality came crashing down and he sat heavily on the bed staring at the pills. Fully fit he knew he had the nous and street smarts to disappear and never be found again. But he was as far from fully fit as he'd been in a long time.

"He's coming for me," he said so quietly Gibbs nearly missed it.

When the older man replied, his voice was low and rough, close to that emotional centre that he rarely allowed to show.

"Then he's coming for us."

"What do you want me to do?" Tony asked quietly.

"What you always do…stand your ground and fight like hell."

Tony looked at the former Marine, searching his face for any signs of doubt and finding none. Braced by the older man's belief in him he set his jaw and squared his shoulders. Gibbs read the body language loud and clear and felt his chest swell with pride. He had seen this before; seen his agent tap into some deep core of strength and it had never failed to impress him.

"I can do this, Boss."

"I know."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Thanks so much for the overwhelming support, L**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

A/N:- Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the storyline flowing.

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Seven**

Tobias Fornell sat at his makeshift desk in the NCIS forensic laboratory where he'd spent the last several hours poring over old reports. Tentatively, he flexed his back and shoulders, wincing at the sound of his cracking joints and tendons and cursing the fact that only his long-standing friendship with Leroy Jethro Gibbs could make him give up his first three-day leave in months.

He startled as a steaming hot coffee and bagel was placed on the desk in front of him and he looked up into the dark eyes of Ziva David. Nodding his thanks he watched as she handed beverages to Abby and McGee and spoke quietly to them before returning to her own temporary workstation. Taking a sip of the strong blend Fornell's eyebrows shot upward as he realised the coffee was just as he liked it. '_How did she…?'_ His eyes darted in her direction as she gazed innocently back at him before continuing her work.

As he leaned back in his chair, a small smile curled his lips as he recalled the cool reception he'd received just a few hours before.

_FLASHBACK_

_"Then maybe I can help."_

_At the sound of the familiar voice, all heads swivelled in unison to see Senior FBI Agent Tobias Fornell standing at the door to Abby's lab with a visitor's identification tag clipped to the pocket of his jacket._

"_Agent Fornell," Ducky greeted coolly. "If memory serves, the last time you were here to help, you believed Anthony to be guilty of the murder of Rene Benoit."_

_The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as Fornell looked at the five displeased faces._

"_Actually, I'm here to-"_

_With her arms crossed over her chest indignantly, Abby cut him off mid-sentence._

_"If you think that we will tell you where Tony is rather than face a jail term for impeding your investigation, you are so wrong, Mister, "she said. "Like, big time, hugely, enormously, astronomically **wrong**."_

"_W-wait a minute," Palmer stuttered worriedly. "J-jail term…really?" _

_The Assistant ME's solar plexus received the point of Abby's elbow._

"_Of course, what I **meant** to say was, if you want Tony, you'll…you'll have to get by us first," Palmer declared brazenly before strategically placing himself behind the Mossad assassin._

"_One little mistake and they never forget," Fornell muttered. _

_"In actual fact, Agent Fornell, there were two mistakes. You will recall that you also arrested Tony for murdering that woman and cutting off her legs."_

_"Of course, thank you for reminding me, Officer David," Fornell replied dryly. "I'm not here to arrest anyone and nobody's going to jail." _

"_Oh thank, God," Palmer whispered gratefully._

"_Then what are you doing here?" McGee asked._

"_I come in peace," Fornell replied as he walked toward them and placed a thick file on the workbench. "I spoke with Gibbs and I'm here to help."_

"_Awwww," Abby said, switching emotions like the flick of a switch as she engulfed Fornell in a huge hug. "Then why didn't you say that, silly! Wait…you spoke to Gibbs? When? How is he? How's Tony? And what about Jackson? Are they okay? I mean, I know they're not okay-okay but I need to know that they're…okay. Okay?"_

"_Abigail, you really must calm down," Ducky said. "I told you that Jethro would be calling later this evening. Now, let the man speak."_

"_Thank you, Doctor," Fornell said, still looking warily at the forensic specialist. "The FBI conducted an investigation into Thomas Grayson's business affairs about ten years ago. We got nothing. Both witnesses who were prepared to testify against Grayson died a short time after the case was closed and as you know…"_

"_Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidences," the others replied in unison._

_McGee opened the file and leafed through the first few pages. _

"_There's not much here, it shouldn't take us long to go through it," he said hopefully._

"_That's the case summary," Fornell said. "I've got a dozen boxes in the trunk of my car."_

"_Then we best get started," Ducky said. "Anthony is depending on us."_

_END FLASHBACK_

Fornell looked at his watch. It was well after midnight yet they were all still here. The medical examiners had retrieved the written autopsy results on the two dead witnesses. With the vigour and energy of someone half his age, Doctor Mallard, with his youthful sidekick, had scurried back to his office to review the reports with a fine-toothed comb.

Looking over the rim of his coffee cup, Fornell watched as McGee scanned the data streaming across his computer screen. He was tired and frustrated by the lack of success but the young man was doggedly determined to break the encryption on the proxy server on Grayson's account - something told Fornell that he would do just that. He didn't know McGee well and rarely understood the computer gibberish he spoke, but he was a good man; quiet and unassuming. No flash, no dazzle, just a solid commitment to the task at hand.

Making her third phone call in a short period of time, Ziva had changed languages from English to Spanish to French without batting an eye. Fornell observed how each conversation began with professional cordiality but the tone quickly became sharp and non-compromising as the perfumed steamroller urgently sought to extract information regarding the dead gun man from her Interpol connections and Spain's Policia Nacional.

Abby's voice drew his attention and he watched as she urged her computers and scientific equipment for faster results; gently cajoling them as if they would double their efforts at her bidding. He thought back several months and recalled his own words as she squashed her face against the glass in the interrogation room:

"_I've never been entirely certain she's all there."_

But as he watched her work diligently throughout the night, he saw the brilliant mind behind kooky, outlandish and downright bizarre behaviour and for the first time he was certain...in the field of forensic science, Abigail Scuito stood alone.

Scuito had turned her lab into some kind of DiNozzo shrine. Large photos of the man were plastered throughout the cavernous room denoting the friendship and loyalty this team had for each other. He shook his head recalling his many encounters with Gibbs' irrepressible right-hand man. On numerous occasions he had asked his NCIS counterpart what the heck he saw in the guy with the expensive wardrobe, the Hollywood looks and the smart mouth and he watched with intrigue as Gibbs replied with rare pride and a casual shrug of his shoulders.

'H_e's an acquired taste.' _

Fornell had always thought DiNozzo to be a wisecracking, flippant, pain in the ass but over the years he'd learned one thing. With DiNozzo, there's what you see and there's what you get and the biggest mistake you'll ever make is thinking those things are one and the same. Even when he was being completely outrageous or a total goofball, there was always a reason. Tony DiNozzo had been Gibbs' senior field agent for eight years and, more importantly, he depended on DiNozzo to watch his six…there was no greater sign of trust than that.

Shaking himself from his musings, Fornell returned to his work.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The night sky crawled into the grey hours of the early morning as the new dawn brightened the sky. Gibbs had watched helplessly as Tony moved agitatedly around the room, unable to sit still for more than a few minutes as painful spasms and aching joints conspired to keep him from the rest he desperately needed. He moved from the bed to the armchair to the window seat; his attention span minuscule as he bounced from one position to another, again and again and again.

Moving back to the bed, Tony stifled a groan and shoved a pillow tightly against his abdomen to counteract the gnawing that seemed to be eating him from the inside out. He writhed, biting down as a sudden tidal wave of nausea engulfed him and he gritted his teeth and locked his jaw to silently drown in the onslaught.

Alternating night sweats and chills added to his misery with fever and headaches ebbing and flowing throughout the night. Gibbs lost count of the number of times Tony had tumbled into an exhausted sleep only to have hypnagogic jerks or nightmares hurl him rudely back to wakefulness where the agony of withdrawals waited hungrily for his return. The former Marine wrapped his fingers around the younger man's wrist and the touch that had banished a hundred nightmares offered Tony a promise of quiet strength.

The faulty mute switch on the younger man's nightmares revealed snippets of the demons he was battling in his subconscious but Gibbs had a sickening feeling that, even in his sleep, his agent was holding something back. There was no way to rid him of the visions he was seeing in his mind's eye and there was no way to take away the pain. All Gibbs could offer was his unwavering support and he hoped like hell it was enough.

He felt, rather than heard, the presence of the other man in the room and turned to see his father standing by the door. Jackson held an empty coffee mug aloft and raised a questioning eyebrow as Gibbs nodded in response and watched his father leave the room.

It was another twenty minutes before the lead agent entered the kitchen and inhaled the rich aroma of strong coffee.

"He asleep?" the older man asked handing him a mug of coffee.

Gibbs took a long pull of the steaming liquid and nodded.

"For now," he replied.

"Just spoke to the Sergeant outside," Jackson said. "The Sea King will collect us in three hours and fly us to Anacostia. We'll have just enough time to call in at your office before heading for court at ten o'çlock sharp."

"Us, Dad?"

"That's right, son, us," Jackson glared. "If it's all the same to you, Tony and I started this withdrawal thing together and I'd kinda like to see it through."

Too tired to argue he lifted his hand to his neck and massaged the stiffness from his muscles. He looked at his father through tired eyes.

"S'been like that every night?" he asked.

"Some not so bad…some a whole lot worse," Jackson admitted, guiding his son to the living room. "It's not easy to watch, is it?."

"He talk about them?"

"The nightmares? Nope, never wanted to talk about 'em. Can't imagine where he learned that."

Gibbs opened his mouth to say something harsh and hurtful but closed it again when he saw the pain in the older man's eyes. Placing his coffee on the table Gibbs pressed the heels of his hands into tired eyes.

"I'm missing something, Dad. Something's tearing at him."

"Lord knows you've never been one for words, Leroy, but maybe you should try asking him."

"If I push before he's ready he'll clam up tight," Gibbs returned sharply.

"How the heck will you know if he's ready or not if you don't ask him?" Jack asked, clearly exasperated.

"Won't have to ask…he'll come to me."

Tony had always retreated into himself when he had problems or struggled to work out a bad assignment. He needed time on his own to think things through but inevitably, in the guise of sharing a six-pack of beer and a pizza, he always reached out to Gibbs.

Jack released a jaw-cracking yawn, the third in as many minutes, prompting Gibbs to look closely at the signs of haggardness on the old man's face. His gut tightened and he took a deep breath before speaking the words that needed to be said.

"Dad, I…" He looked at the ceiling as if expecting the words to magically appear then he dropped his gaze to meet his father's. "Thank you…for this…for Tony."

"Truth is, despite the situation, I enjoyed getting to know the boy these past weeks," Jack replied. "But you know, son, I didn't do this just for Tony. Lotta water's passed under the bridge and I hoped…well heck, I reckon I thought that you and I might work out a few things, too."

Gibbs' face remained expressionless for several long seconds until a small smile played across his lips.

"Why'd ya think I left him here," he said rising to his feet and squeezing his father's shoulder affectionately as he walked toward his old room. "I'll be with Tony."

Jack's blue eyes were edged with grateful moisture as he watched his son leave. So many years had passed; so much hurt lay beneath their conversation, jagged as broken glass. They still had many issues to resolve but they had at last reached a point in their lives when they were willing to try.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

As he was led into the interview room at Petersburg Federal Correction Institution, Thomas Grayson's flint hard eyes zeroed in on the smug smile occupying his attorney's face.

"Well?" he asked when the guard left the room.

"Last night, the prosecution asked for another continuance," Scott said.

"And?"

"It was denied," he replied oozing in self-gratification. "I successfully argued that every moment you remained behind bars for a crime that you had no knowledge of, the bigger the law suit we will file against the federal judicial system for wrongful imprisonment, defamation and loss of business revenue."

Grayson stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"You're confident you can get me out of here?" he asked.

"Absolutely. I'm telling you, Thomas, the prosecution's got nothing!" Scott stressed. "Do you think they'd be asking for a continuance if they had any proof against you?"

"What's the plan?"

"My information is that DiNozzo's team mate, Tim McGee is the IT Specialist and the agent most likely to decrypt the proxy server," Scott said.

"Can we arrange for him to…meet with an accident?" Grayson asked.

"The team's in lockdown. They're eating and sleeping at the office until the hearing is over."

"Then how do we do this?" Grayson spat.

"I placed McGee on the subpoena list. He's required to be at the court first thing this morning and I'll request that he remain as a rebuttal or expert witness," Scott said. "He'll have to stay in courtroom for the entire hearing."

"And then what?"

"Then you just sit back and relax while I systematically destroy what's left of Tony DiNozzo's career and self-respect," Scott sneered.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Still reeling from the recent loss of his agents, the director was taking no chances and arranged for another Marine guard to escort Tony, Gibbs and Jackson from Anacostia to the Navy yard where they would travel by convoy to the courthouse.

With just a few hours of restless sleep, Tony was ashen-faced and shaky as he arrived at NCIS and was ushered away from prying eyes to Abby's lab. Needing the physical comfort that he allowed only Abby to provide, Tony closed his eyes and rested his head against her shoulder as she wrapped him in a warm embrace. She held him close, feeling the residual heat of his fever and every tremor and muscle spasm that continued to wrack his body. Overwhelmed with fatigue and the emotion of the last few weeks, Abby's eyes swam behind an curtain of tears that, inevitably, overflowed and tracked a trail of mascara down her pale cheeks.

"Boss," McGee whispered. "We had some clothes sent over from Tony's apartment. He'll need to get ready soon or we'll be late for court."

Gibbs looked over his shoulder noting that Tony and Abby hadn't moved an inch. He cast his mind back to when Tony had joined him at NCIS and the cool reception he'd received from Abby. It had been a rocky beginning but when they finally connected it was for life; they became staunch allies, firm friends and developed a strong, sibling-like affection.

"Give 'em a few minutes," he said knowing how much they both needed the comfort.

**0-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

Tony stood at the door of the courtroom looking around the impressive chamber and tugging nervously at the sleeve of his charcoal Amarni suit. The Gucci shoes, crisp white business shirt and his favourite purple and white Zegna tie completed the ensemble retrieved from his apartment, but although the clothes looked a million dollars, the man inside felt like a buck forty-five.

"You ready?" Gibbs asked quietly.

Ignoring the twinge from his broken ribs, Tony straightened to his full height and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Taking a bracing breath he willed his shaking legs onward and started down the centre aisle, grateful for the former Marine's solid presence by his side. As they made their way to the front of the courtroom, his gaze fell upon his friends seated in the gallery and he nodded in acknowledgement as they sent him silent messages of strength and reassurance.

Wearing Navy class-A's, Commander Peter Barnes noticed Tony and Gibbs' arrival and stood to greet them. Mindful of his agent's weakened condition, Gibbs gripped Tony by the elbow and steered him to a seat in the front row. He watched the younger man with guarded concern as the JAG officer spoke quietly with them.

"How soon can you call McGee to the stand?" Gibbs asked.

"I'll call him as the first witness and have him off the stand and back breaking that code before you know it," Pete answered. "If Scott tries to retain him as an expert witness, we'll call our pinch hitter into play."

Tony frowned slightly at the term but didn't question it. He was subdued; a shadow of the larger than life, gregarious man Gibbs knew. The trembling was barely detectable but the residual effects of the withdrawal seemed to come and go without warning. His face was without colour and his eyes - hollow and dull - were shadowed with nightmares both waking and not. The sense of panic he'd seen in Tony earlier was gone, bottled up and replaced with a ruthless determination to see justice done. There was an unmistakable stiffness in Tony's posture – a small signal that told Gibbs that although the younger man was down, he was far from out.

As if on cue, Cameron Scott entered the courtroom with an over-confident strut. Spotting Tony in the front row Scott bared his teeth in a predatory smile that faded when he locked eyes with Gibbs and received a glare on par with liquid nitrogen. Having been transferred from the correction institution, Thomas Grayson was led into court. Despite the prison garb and the handcuffs, self-importance wafted behind him like cheap aftershave.

The court officer called everyone to their feet as Judge Eugene Brayden entered the courtroom. Approaching retirement after 29 years on the bench, Judge Brayden was an esteemed member of the federal judicial system. White haired, tall and lean, his shoulders were stooped with age but despite his poor posture he held himself with great dignity. His thin face and angular features were lined like the cracked mud of a dry creek bed but his eyes retained a sharp intelligence that demanded respect. The judge waited for the court officer to identify the case and call the spectators to order.

"This is a preliminary hearing," the judge said. "The responsibility of determining whether there is enough evidence to require a trial is tasked to me. As the prosecuting attorney, Commander Barnes, your job is to establish probable cause and yours, Mr Scott, is to prove reasonable doubt. Should it be determined that the defendant has a case to answer, he will be held over for arraignment and will be asked to enter a plea at that time. Are there any questions?"

"No, Your Honour," Cameron Scott and Commander Barnes replied in unison.

"As this is not a trial, you may dispense with your opening statements," the judge said. "Commander Barnes, you can call your first witness."

"Thank you, Your Honour," the commander replied. "The prosecution calls NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee."

McGee took a deep breath then walked through the small swing gate. The court officer swore him in before directing him to take a seat in the witness box.

"Special Agent McGee, would you please tell the court your current position with NCIS?" Commander Barnes asked.

"I am a field agent on the Major Case Response Team."

"You are the IT Specialist, correct?"

"That's correct."

The commander took a multi-page document from a file on his desk and handed it to McGee.

"Agent McGee, will you tell the court what this document is?"

"This is a joint savings account statement from the Cayman National Bank in the names of Thomas and Evan Grayson," McGee answered.

"Is this the first time you have seen this account?"

"No. NCIS was recently assigned to investigate an increasing incidence of drug related activity in the US Navy," McGee explained. "During the course of the investigation we discovered a chief petty officer in the supply corps who used his position to distribute drugs to various Navy vessels and bases and was receiving large payments into his account in return."

"Were you able to locate from where those payments originated?" the commander asked.

"Yes, we were," McGee said, indicating the statements. "The payments originated from this joint account owned by Thomas and Evan Grayson."

"These payments are highlighted on the bank statements?" the Commander inquired.

"Yes they are."

"How did you obtain this information?"

"It wasn't easy," McGee replied. "The account used an extremely intricate and sophisticated network of international servers to bounce the payments all over the world. There was also an encrypted online security protocol that automatically and randomly changed every 6 hours making it impossible to penetrate without the decryption codes."

"I take it that kind of security technology is not standard on bank accounts?" the commander asked.

"No, Sir," McGee said. "It was state of the art technology that many government intelligence agencies would love to get their hands on."

"As you were able to penetrate the security protocol, I assume that you found the decryption codes," the commander said.

"Yes, Sir. While on undercover assignment, my partner, Special Agent DiNozzo befriended Evan Grayson and managed to extract the codes we needed from Grayson's computer."

The JAG officer leafed through the pages of the bank statement.

"All these payments went to one chief petty officer?"

"No, Sir. We traced payments to customs officials, law enforcement officers even members of various foreign and domestic drug cartels," McGee said.

"And all payments originated from the joint account of Thomas and Evan Grayson?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Thank you, Special Agent McGee," the commander said. "I have no further questions."

Cameron Scott was on his feet instantly, striding confidently toward the witness box.

"Special Agent McGee, would you tell the court your qualifications," he said.

"I have been an NCIS field agent for five years. I have a Bachelor of Science degree in biomedical engineering and a Master of Science degree in computer forensics," McGee replied.

"A degree from MIT no less."

"That is correct," McGee said.

"Very impressive," Scott replied with a nod of the head. "Tell me Agent McGee, of the two account holders, Thomas and Evan Grayson, who initiated these payments?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Would you please tell me whether it was Thomas or Evan Grayson who initiated the payments?"

"Er…the account was in joint names and-"

"Oh come now, Agent McGee, surely someone with your impressive background in computer forensics would be able to tell which of the Graysons made the payments in question."

"Ordinarily I could but-"

"The simple fact of the matter is that you are unable to determine with any certainty, whether my client initiated any of the payments in questions. Isn't that right?"

"I am currently working on a program that will-"

"I will ask you again, Agent McGee and remind you that you are obliged to answer the question," Scott said insistently. "At this point in time, can you categorically state that it was the defendant and not his son, who initiated the payments highlighted on these statements?"

Several long seconds passed as McGee struggled with the answer.

"No, I cannot but-"

"Thank you, Special Agent McGee, you have confirmed what we already suspected and that is that the prosecution has no evidentiary proof against my client whatsoever." Cameron Scott turned a disdainful glance in Tony's direction before addressing the witness again. "Agent McGee, how long have you worked with Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"I was temporarily assigned to the MCRT on two occasions before my appointment as a permanent field agent five years ago."

"In that time, have you ever seen Special Agent DiNozzo acting under the influence of narcotics in the workplace?"

"Objection, Your Honour," Pete said rising quickly to his feet. "The question lacks relevance. Special Agent DiNozzo is not on trial here."

"Your Honour, my client has been forced to endure the last several weeks in a federal correction facility due to charges brought against him by Special Agent DiNozzo," Scott replied. "As I was denied the opportunity to depose Agent DiNozzo prior to this hearing, the defence requests a little latitude."

"Very little latitude, Mr Scott," Judge Brayden replied. "However, I'll allow the question."

"Thank you, Your Honour," Scott said. "Agent McGee?"

A slightly pained expression formed on McGee's face and he realised he was being verbally manoeuvred into a corner.

"Agent McGee, would you like the court reporter to read back the last question?"

"That won't be necessary," McGee replied. He took a deep breath and with no small measure of angst, he answered the question with extreme reluctance. "Yes I have but there was extenuating-"

"Agent McGee, my sources tell me that there have been frequent instances of erratic behaviour by Special Agent DiNozzo, including the application of superglue on your computer keyboard, constant humiliating nicknames, unwanted intrusion into the private lives of his colleagues, just to name a few."

"No." McGee said with a shake of his head.

"No?" Scott replied. "Are my sources incorrect? Has Agent DiNozzo exhibited this type of erratic behaviour before or has he not? Yes or no, Agent McGee?"

McGee's frustration was palpable as he turned disheartened eyes to Tony. The senior field agent straightened in his seat and with the hint of a smile and a "what-are-you-gonna-do" shrug, Tony silently instructed his younger partner to answer the question.

"Yes," McGee grudgingly replied.

"I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honour," Scott said, turning on his heel and resuming his seat.

"Your Honour, permission to redirect?" Commander Barnes asked.

"Proceed, Commander," the judge agreed.

"Agent McGee, would you please explain to the court, the circumstances under which you witnessed Agent DiNozzo acting under the influence of narcotics while at work?" the commander asked.

"A short time ago, Tony and I were both injured while apprehending a suspect. The suspect broke Tony's nose and he was given Percodan for the pain," the recollection brought a small smile to McGee's lips. "It made him a little…loopy."

"This Percodan, it was prescribed by a doctor?"

"Yes, Sir, I was with Tony at the hospital when the doctor prescribed it."

"You were also injured?"

"I dislocated my shoulder," McGee replied.

"Did you receive pain medication?" the commander asked.

"Yes, Sir, Percodan, the same dosage as Tony," McGee said.

"Yet you were unaffected?"

"It was a low dose, just enough to take the edge off the pain."

"Then, how do you explain Agent DiNozzo's reaction."

McGee's eyes found Tony's and the younger man smiled.

"I guess he has a higher threshold for pain and a lower threshold for pain meds. If there was any doubt at all about our ability to do our jobs, Special Agent Gibbs would have benched us."

"So, to summarise, the narcotic was in fact low dose pain medication prescribed by a doctor after you and Agent DiNozzo had been injured in the line of duty," the commander said. "What about these other claims of erratic behaviour?"

McGee sighed heavily.

"You've gotta know Tony. He's the like the circuit breaker or the emergency valve on our team," he explained. "Ours is not an easy job; the hours are long and the work can be frustrating and dangerous. Tony provides a release from the tension but none of what he says or does comes from malice. I believe that's why the boss, er, Special Agent Gibbs, allows him a certain amount of latitude. Do I find it irritating at times; absolutely, but when it counts, when we're in the field, Tony has always had my back."

"What about the nicknames and the superglue incident?" Pete asked. "Don't you find that kind of workplace bullying humiliating?"

"Annoying sometimes but never humiliating," McGee answered truthfully. "As for everything else – anybody who believes that I am an unfortunate victim of workplace bullying isn't giving me enough credit. This isn't nursery school and I'm not some shrinking violet – I am a US federal agent and if I had a problem with how I was being treated, believe me, Tony would know about it."

He locked eyes again with his senior field agent who, despite looking like a stiff breeze could blow him off his feet, was nodding his head in silent agreement.

"I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honour," Pete said.

"Mr Scott?" the judge asked.

"Your Honour," Scott replied. "The defence requests the right to recall Special Agent McGee at a later time."

"With all due respect, Your Honour, Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo are still to testify which means Agent McGee is the most senior member of the MCRT and is required back at NCIS headquarters."

"Your Honour, Special Agent McGee's qualifications speak for themselves. By anyone's standards he is considered an expert in his field. The defence may have further questions that require clarification from someone with his excellent qualifications."

"Then we're in luck, Your Honour," Pete said with the hint of a smile as he pointed to a young redheaded man in the gallery. "NCIS Special Agent Joseph Blowfield also has a Bachelor of Science degree in biomedical engineering and a Master of Science degree in computer forensics from MIT. Agents Blowfield and McGee have worked very closely over the past three years and he has kindly agreed to act as an expert witness if required."

The courtroom fell silent and Gibbs felt his gut tighten as the judge contemplated his decision. If there was any chance of decrypting the proxy server they needed McGee working on it, not stuck here twiddling his thumbs.

"Special Agent McGee, you are dismissed with the thanks of this court," Judge Brayden stated.

"But, Your Honour-" Scott protested.

"I've made my decision, Mr Scott," the judge said putting an end to the argument.

Scott chanced a look at Thomas Grayson who met his gaze with eyes that sparked with incandescent fury.

McGee walked back through the swing gate and moved in behind Tony and Gibbs.

"I'm going back to the office," he whispered receiving a concerned frown from his team leader.

"The Marine guard?" Gibbs asked.

"Waiting for me in the hall" McGee answered. "Hang in there, Tony, we won't let you down."

"Go speak the geek, Probie," Tony replied with a thin smile.

Giving Tony's shoulder a nudge of support, McGee turned on his heel and left the courtroom. As Commander Barnes approached he noted the look of confusion on Tony's face.

"How you holding up?" Pete asked his ashen-faced friend.

Waving off the commander's concern, Tony's frown deepened.

"Um, Pete, I see Joe Blowfield buzzing around the office all day but he's on another team," Tony whispered.

The commander looked stricken as he turned to Gibbs.

"You told me Agents Blowfield and McGee worked closely every day!" Pete hissed accusingly. "_Please_ tell me I didn't just lie to the judge."

A small smile tugged at the former Marine's lips.

"Wouldn't call it a lie exactly," Gibbs drawled. "Blowfield's desk backs onto McGee's so...they work _closely every day."_

The JAG officer's jaw was in danger of hitting the floor as he gazed open-mouthed from one man to the other.

"And what if he's called to testify?" Pete asked.

"That would be bad," Tony nodded.

"Very bad," Gibbs added.

"What he said," Tony agreed.

Despite the situation, Gibbs enjoyed the easy banter with his agent. The Blowfield fake out had hopefully bought them some time and his IT Specialist was on his way back to the Navy yard to do what he did best.

Without specific proof of Thomas Grayson's involvement, the burden of establishing probable cause weighed heavily on Tony's shoulders. The senior field agent had been holding on by his fingernails ever since his undercover assignment had been blown and Gibbs feared that the additional pressure could loosen Tony's tenuous grip.

He heard his agent take an audible breath as Commander Barnes called Thomas Grayson to the stand.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N Thank you again for the overwhelming support received for this story. And a big thank you to Zee Viate for her invaluable feedback on my first courtroom scene ever and for her calming influence regarding my extreme case of butterflies. **

**I hope you enjoyed it, L**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is ****unintentional**

A/N:- Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the storyline flowing. As this story is a crime fic the necessary investigation continues, however, many of the loose ends will be tied up next chapter. Many, many thanks for the reviews and alerts, L

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Eight**

"The prosecution calls Thomas Grayson to the stand," Commander Barnes announced.

Tony felt his chest start to heave in its sudden quest for more air and he tugged his tie loose. Even without looking he could sense Gibbs watching him, gauging his level of pain and exhaustion. He dropped his head, hating the look of concern in the former Marine's eyes and knowing he was responsible for putting it there.

His eyes flicked sideways and met Gibbs' steady gaze. Without a word being spoken, fear and pain were telegraphed and comfort and strength returned.

"S'gonna get rough," Gibbs said quietly. "You ready?"

Tony baulked; his anxiety threatening to overwhelm him until he felt the warmth of Gibbs' hand cupping the nape of his neck.

"DiNozzo, look at me," he said more firmly. "Are…you…ready?"

The younger man took a ragged breath and nodded.

"I'm ready, Boss," Tony told him gamely.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Thomas Grayson was sworn in by the court officer and took a seat in the witness box. His dark hair had greyed at the temples and his sharp intelligent eyes glanced around the room perfunctorily giving the illusion of nonchalance but just below the surface, the man burned with self-righteous indignation.

Commander Barnes removed a document from a file on his desk and handed it to the witness.

"Mr Grayson, this is a bank statement from the Cayman National Bank," he said. "It is a joint account in your son Evan and your names. Do you recognise it?"

Grayson glanced briefly at the multi-page document.

"No."

The commander handed Grayson another form.

"This is a copy of the account opening authority. Is that your signature?" he asked.

"It appears to be my signature," Grayson replied calmly.

"Do you have any reason to suspect that this signature was forged?"

"What I am saying, Commander, is that I am the CEO of a billion dollar corporate empire and I sign on many bank accounts," Grayson replied dismissively. "If you're asking if I remember this particular account then the answer is no, I do not."

"This is a not a company account, Sir. It is a personal savings in joint names with your son. It was opened only nine months ago and has a substantial seven-figure balance. I would imagine an account like this would be difficult to forget."

Grayson's laugh bordered on condescending.

"Commander, I am an exceedingly wealthy man who brokers billion dollar business deals several times a month. Although the balance of this account may appear to you to be substantial, I can assure you that to me it is not."

The JAG prosecutor smiled disarmingly.

"I take your point," he said. "In fact, just a few months ago I read an article in the Wall Street Journal that claimed that you personally review the financial records of every company, large or small, that falls under the Grayson Industries umbrella. That takes some serious brain power."

"You need more than luck to build a multi-national company the size of Grayson Industries," Grayson boasted.

"I would think so," Pete agreed amiably, before walking back to his desk and gathering another document. "Mr Grayson, do you know the name Jeremy Peterson?"

Grayson's expression remained dispassionate but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and crossed his arms defensively across his chest.

"I don't believe so."

"Then allow me to remind you," Pete said. "Jeremy Peterson was the managing director of Grayson Finance, a derivative of Grayson Industries."

"I employ over seven thousand people, Commander, I cannot be expected to know everyone by name."

"Of course, however, Jeremy Peterson is currently serving five years in a minimum security prison for embezzling eighty thousand dollars from Grayson Financial," Pete told him. "That alone should make him a little more memorable, don't you think? In fact, you testified at his trial just a few months ago."

"Yes, I remember now," Grayson said matter-of-factly.

"I thought you might," Pete quipped. "I have a copy of the transcript that states that it was you and not the company accountants noticed the discrepancy in the financial records."

"That is correct."

Pete cocked his head and looked perplexed.

"I'm wondering, Mr Grayson, how someone as financially astute as you clearly are, could notice eighty thousand missing from a small business account, yet still insist you were completely unaware of several million dollars in your joint personal account?"

Grayson's features hardened and his eyes flashed angrily.

"Never mind…we'll come back to that," Pete shrugged realising that he had struck a nerve. "Your late son, Evan, worked at Grayson Industries, did he not?"

"For a short time."

"Following his release from the Army, where he served three years of a six year hitch," the commander continued conversationally.

"That's right."

"What is your relationship with Lieutenant Colonel Robert Masters?" Pete asked.

"I've not seen the colonel for several years," Grayson stated.

"But you played golf once a week for several years before that and you attended his daughter's wedding, correct?"

"Yes."

"Were you aware that, two days ago, Colonel Masters was taken into custody by Army CID and charged with falsifying US Army service records?"

A moment of panic flickered in Grayson's eyes and disappeared so quickly that Pete almost missed it. Cameron Scott was on his feet in a flash.

"Objection, Your Honour, the commander's line of questioning is totally irrelevant to this hearing."

"Commander, do you intend to come to the point any time soon?" the judge asked.

"Right now, Your Honour, if you'll allow," Pete replied.

"Make it fast."

"Lieutenant Colonel Masters was head of the Army Human Resources Command. He had access to well over a million service records and yet, in his entire career, he falsified just one...that file belonged to your son, Evan," Pete continued. "The colonel has pleaded guilty to altering Evan's discharge status from dishonourable to medical…and he claims he did it at your request."

Cameron Scott was again on his feet in a shot.

"Objection, Your Honour!"

"Save your breath, Mr Scott," Judge Brayden said. "Commander, if Mr Grayson has been implicated in another case, you know better than to discuss that here. The objection is sustained."

"Yes, Your Honour," Pete said. He knew he'd pushed the envelope with that line of questioning but at least he'd planted the seed before being shut down. "Mr Grayson, you have twice been the recipient of the US Entrepreneur of the Year award and you are known both here and abroad for your keen business acumen and the uncanny ability to buy small companies and turn them into multi-million dollar corporations. In fact, it's a matter of public record that after his discharge from the army, Evan was appointed CEO of two of these small subsidiary companies."

"As you say, Commander, it is a matter of public record," Grayson replied.

"Every other small business you purchased returned excellent profits except for the two that were run by your son," Pete said. "Those companies suffered large financial losses and were driven to the brink of bankruptcy. How do you explain that?"

"Business is a gamble," Grayson replied. "Some turn a profit, others a loss."

"So…you're saying there were no extraordinary circumstances concerning those two companies and no culpability."

"That's right."

"Yet, at a board meeting twelve months ago you offered to buy back all stock purchased in those companies at five times the market rate and you made full restitution of the funds lost. I do not profess to have your business intellect, Sir, but that seems a little unusual, particularly if there was no culpability."

"It was a goodwill gesture to loyal investors and stockholders on behalf of Grayson Industries," Thomas Grayson answered.

"A business decision," Pete stated.

"Yes."

"Then why were these funds paid, not from Grayson Industries but from your personal fortune?" the commander pressed. "I have it on good authority that several members of the board believed that your son, Evan, siphoned large amounts of money from both companies and it was only your promise of restitution that avoided criminal charges!"

"Objection, Your Honour, none of these accusations have any bearing whatsoever on the charges that have been laid against my client," Cameron Scott protested loudly.

Judge Brayden pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Overruled," he said. "I'd like to see where this is leading."

"Which was it, Mr Grayson," Pete continued, "an act of goodwill or a desperate attempt to keep your son out of prison?"

The arrogant, self-assured mien faltered slightly and the muscles in Grayson's jaw twitched as he bit down on his fury.

"Evan was going through a difficult period in his life," Grayson ground out through tightly clenched teeth. "I did what any father would do for his son."

"Mr Grayson, I am convinced that there is very little you wouldn't do to protect your son," Pete replied pointedly. "I have no more questions, Your Honour."

As Pete made his way back to his desk he glanced briefly at Tony and Gibbs in the gallery and received a succinct nod of approval from the former Marine. He felt his chest tighten as he noticed his friend's deteriorating condition; Tony's face glistened with a light sheen of sweat and the trembling was becoming more noticeable. As the agent met his gaze, Pete gave him a confident wink and resumed his seat.

"Mr Scott," Judge Brayden said. "Do you have any questions for this witness."

"I do, Your Honour," Scott said rising to his feet and walking confidently to the front of the witness box. "Mr Grayson, when did you start Grayson Industries?"

"Over twenty years ago."

"And you dedicated your life to it, building it from a small one room concern to the multi-national conglomerate it is today?"

"I did."

"As my learned colleague, Commander Barnes, pointed out earlier, you have been the recipient of the US Entrepreneur of Year award on two occasions," Scott sprouted. "Grayson Industries employs over seven thousand people globally and four thousand here in the United States making it one of the largest employers in the north-west."

"That is correct," Grayson replied.

"In addition to your heavy ongoing commitments to Grayson Industries, you are a board member of three major charities and patron of The Grayson Foundation for Underprivileged Children. In this fiscal year alone, you have personally donated an extraordinarily generous amount of twelve million dollars to various charities."

"My success in the business world has afforded me a very comfortable lifestyle," Grayson said. "Therefore, I have dedicated myself to helping people much less fortunate."

"Last year you were awarded the Carnegie Medal of Philanthropy and the Washington Business Journal honoured The Grayson Foundation with its philanthropy award. If I'm not mistaken, you were nominated for both awards again this year, is that correct?"

"I was, however, both award nominations have been withdrawn until I can clear my name of the charges filed against me."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Humiliated; angry; determined to prove my innocence," Grayson replied. "I was forced to attend the funeral of my son wearing an ankle tracker and I stood at his graveside, before my family and friends, handcuffed to a federal marshal like some common criminal."

"How has this affected your livelihood?"

Grayson snorted loudly.

"I have lived the last three weeks of my life in a federal penitentiary," he spat. "My personal assets have been frozen, my companies have been forced to cease trading on the stock exchange and the impeccable reputation I have worked my entire life to achieve has been smeared by NCIS and dragged through the mud by the media."

"This is not the first time that Grayson Industries has been investigated by a government intelligence agency, is it?" Scott asked.

"No. Ten years ago the FBI wrongly believed the rapid growth and expansion of my company was linked to criminal activity. They conducted a lengthy and exhaustive investigation."

"And you were exonerated of any wrongdoing?"

"Objection, Your Honour," Pete said. "The FBI investigation was ceased due to manpower and monetary reasons, not because Mr Grayson was exonerated."

"Regardless of the reason, Your Honour, after an extensive search of operational procedures, the FBI had no cause whatsoever to lay charges against my client."

"Objection is overruled, you may continue Mr Scott," Judge Brayden replied.

"Mr Grayson, did you have any idea that your son was running a major drug importation business?" Scott asked.

"No I did not," Grayson replied. "My son was not a perfect man but I did my best to help him through troubled times. It was hard for him to live in my shadow; always being compared to me. He resented my success and it drove a wedge between us. Evan kept to himself, he didn't share details of his life with me. But he seemed happier lately, more settled…I thought he was finally getting his life together. He was my only child…and I loved him."

The man paused to blow his nose and swipe at dry eyes for effect.

"Have you met or had any previous dealings with Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo?" Cameron Scott asked.

"No, I have not."

"Do you have any idea why Special Agent DiNozzo would make such heinous charges against you?"

"No," Grayson said turning his head to glare contemptuously in Tony's direction. "Unless he was tying to divert attention from his own actions."

"I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honour."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"McGee has passed through the main gate ten minutes ago," Ziva said flipping her cell closed.

"Then where is he? He should totally be here by now!" Abby said pacing anxiously. "I need information! I need to know how Tony's doing! Did he tell you what's happening? Did he say who else has testified? Doesn't he know how worried we are? Why would he do this to us, Ziva, why, why?"

"Why what?" McGee said and he entered the lab with another round of beverages for everyone.

"Timmy!" Abby called.

McGee had just enough time to hand off the refreshments to Fornell before Abby pulled him into a tight hug.

"Where have you been?" she said. "Ziva's been going crazy."

The Israeli opened her mouth to dispute the point before shrugging resignedly. After giving the others a brief rundown on what had happened at the hearing, McGee looked around at the boxes of files and evidence strewn over every work surface.

"This is getting us nowhere. Wait…you know what we need?" he said, raising a quizzical eyebrow at his colleagues.

"How 'bout a miracle," Fornell muttered.

"No," McGee countered, his eyes flicking from Ziva to Abby. "What we need is a-"

"Campfire!" the women said in unison, immediately grabbing their chairs and pushing them to the centre of the room.

"A what?" Fornell exclaimed.

"Campfire. It's a technique Tony used when he was acting team leader," McGee explained.

"And, it works?" Fornell asked.

"Of course it does, silly," Abby replied pulling another chair closer. "Watch and learn."

Fornell moved slowly toward the forensic specialist, clearly still uncomfortable around her. As he sat beside her, the others immediately started to pool their information.

Special Agent Keating was standing by to assist McGee in his attempts to break the proxy server code on Grayson's account. A breakthrough would provide the evidence they needed to put Thomas Grayson's involvement beyond doubt but the process was painstakingly slow and taking time they couldn't afford.

Having already established that the gunman arrived from Spain a day prior to the attack on the NCIS safe house, Ziva had obtained additional information from her Interpol connections and Spain's Policia Nacional. William Arthur Stockton immigrated to Madrid from the USA in 1991, however, according to US government records, his name, social security number, driver's licence and passport details did not exist until 1990. It was clear that someone with a lot of wealth or powerful connections had falsified government records and established a fake ID.

Before leaving for court, Ducky and Palmer had autopsied Stockton and found that he had once suffered a severe head trauma requiring facial reconstruction and plastic surgery. From the bone calcification Ducky had determined the injuries had occurred approximately twenty years ago – months before Stockton moved to Spain.

Fornell, Ziva and Abby had begun reviewing the FBI's ten year old case file of their investigation into Grayson Industries and, so far, were coming up empty handed.

"Perhaps we are looking at this the wrong way," Ziva said. "The FBI spent weeks investigating Grayson Industries and found nothing. The hearing has already started; we do not have time to waste."

McGee pursed his lips and turned to Fornell. "What about the witnesses? You said that the two men who were prepared to testify against Grayson ten years ago, both died within eight months of the investigation being closed."

Fornell nodded.

"Ducky and Palmer have already reviewed the autopsy reports," the senior FBI agent replied. "Henry Bedford suffered massive internal injuries as the result of a hit and run incident and Nick Hollister was bound, beaten and finally killed by a double-tap to the heart. There were no witnesses and the cases went cold."

"We could review the evidence?" McGee continued. "Forensics has come a long way in ten years, maybe Abby can find something."

"If there's anything to be found, my babies and I will find it," Abby vowed.

Fornell got to his feet and walked to the nearby desk.

"It's worth a shot," he said reaching for the phone. "I'll have the evidence sent over right away."

He lifted the handset of the phone and looked back with a surprised expression.

"What do you know; those campfires really work."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Mr Scott, is the defence ready to call its first witness?" Judge Brayden asked.

"Yes, Your Honour," Scott replied. "The defence calls Doctor Donald Mallard."

Exchanging a grim nod with Jimmy Palmer, Ducky rose to his feet and walked to the witness stand where the court officer swore him in. Resplendent in a tweed jacket, blue shirt and red tartan bow tie and pocket square, the ME was the epitome of a refined British gentleman.

Scott glanced at his notes then turned to address the doctor.

"Doctor Mallard, how long have you known Special Agent DiNozzo?"

"I was working at NCIS when Anthony joined the agency over 8 years ago," Ducky replied.

"And how would you describe your relationship?"

Waiting until he caught Tony's eye, Ducky responded.

"I am honoured to count Anthony among my closest friends."

"I see," Scott said. "And how would you describe his relationship with Agent Gibbs?"

"Objection, your Honour," Commander Barnes said. "Calls for speculation on the part of the witness."

"Your Honour, as previously stated, the charges Special Agent DiNozzo has brought against my client have not only slandered his impeccable reputation but could lead to his wrongful imprisonment," Scott countered. "I do not believe it unreasonable to attempt to ascertain what kind of a federal agent DiNozzo is."

"The objection is overruled," Judge Brayden said. "Doctor Mallard has worked closely with Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo for eight years. His opinion as a colleague and a physician could prove insightful. Doctor Mallard, you will answer the question."

"Anthony, that is, Special Agent DiNozzo and Special Agent Gibbs have been partners for a very long time," Ducky explained. "You cannot do what they do - frequently putting your life on the line - without having the utmost trust and confidence in your partner. They have a very special bond."

Scott pursed his lips.

"So you would say they are close?"

"I would say they are extremely close," Ducky replied.

"Special Agent DiNozzo is a lucky man to have such close and trusted friends."

Scott let the comment hang in the air before continuing.

"Let's move on. Doctor Mallard, you are a licensed general practitioner as well as a medical examiner. Is that correct?"

"That is correct. I also have a Masters in forensic psychology, as I believe you can never be too–"

"That's very commendable, I'm sure," Scott said cutting Ducky off mid-sentence. "But please confine your answers to the questions asked."

"Of course."

"Is it true, Doctor, that your expertise is often called upon to oversee other medical related tasks that do not strictly fall under your purview?"

"Yes, from time to time I have rendered assist-"

"Let's take that as a yes," Scott interjected. "I believe those additional tasks include performing and keeping records of random drug tests undertaken by NCIS employees?"

"Yes, I…yes, that is correct."

"How many NCIS employees are selected for drug testing?"

"On average…five a week."

"How are these employees selected?"

"I am not involved in that aspect but I believe there is a computer program that produces names randomly."

"I see. How often is an employee tested?"

"That depends. The computer may select a person once a year or several times a year, as I said it is completely random."

"But at least once a year?"

"I believe that is the mandatory guideline for federal workplace drug testing programs," Ducky replied.

"Doctor Mallard, I have a copy of the results of three drug tests undertaken by Agent DiNozzo, during the last two years. Can you confirm the two signatures at the bottom of the pages?"

Ducky leafed through the small pile of papers.

"Those signatures belong to Special Agent Gibbs, Anthony's immediate supervisor and myself as Chief Medical Examiner."

"And were these tests deemed satisfactory?" Scott asked.

"Yes they were," Ducky replied.

Scott frowned deeply and made a show of scratching his head.

"I'm confused, Doctor. According to these reports, Agent DiNozzo tested positive to opiates and or amphetamines on all of these tests."

"Ah, yes, well you see, those positive results occurred when Anthony was taking prescribed medication for injuries or illnesses sustained in the line of duty," Ducky explained.

"Really? It would appear then that Agent DiNozzo gets injured a lot," Scott said. "One has to ask if he is injury prone or simply inept?"

"Objection, Your Honour!" Commander Barnes called, launching to his feet.

"Withdrawn," Scott conceded. He tapped his finger to his lips. "Three drug tests, three positive results. Dr Mallard, you testified earlier that the agents are randomly selected for drug testing, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And the fact that Agent DiNozzo sustained these…injuries just prior to each random drug test is merely a…coincidence?"

"At NCIS, we choose not to believe in coincidences," Ducky told him. "We deal in facts."

"I see…then let's talk facts, shall we?" Scott smiled ingenuously. "Is it a fact that the drugs found in Agent DiNozzo's system at the time of the drug tests can be used for recreational purposes and have addictive properties?"

"I take exception to your inference-" Ducky blustered.

"Yes or no, Doctor?"

"If you are implying that Anthony would…"

"Your Honour?" Scott said turning to the judge for support.

"The witness will answer the question," Judge Brayden directed.

"With all due respect, Your Honour, I am trying to do just that," Ducky explained.

"It's a simple question requiring a yes or no answer, Doctor," Scott said coolly. "Could any of the drugs found in Agent DiNozzo's system during those drug tests be used for recreational purposes or have addictive properties? Yes or no?"

Ducky's expression hardened as he met Scott's gaze with naked dislike.

"Doctor Mallard, please answer the question," the judge prompted again.

"Yes," Ducky replied curtly.

"Thank you, Doctor," Scott said, his tone dripping with arrogance. "I do not have your impressive medical qualifications but I would think these results could suggest that Agent DiNozzo has a serious drug problem? Furthermore, I put it to you that not only were you and Agent Gibbs aware of DiNozzo's drug problem; you did nothing to address the situation."

"That is totally preposterous!" Ducky seethed.

"Tell me, Doctor, are you and Agent Gibbs in the habit of turning a blind eye to agents who continually fail the mandatory drug tests?"

"We most certainly are not!" Ducky bristled.

"Really? What about agents who, by your own admission, are very close personal friends?"

_"Objection, Your Honour, counsel is badgering the witness!"_A voice called loudly from the gallery.

All eyes turned to see Jimmy Palmer on his feet, a rare angry scowl on his face. Several seconds passed before the young ME realised he had become the focus of attention in the courtroom. His face flushed with heat and colour.

"I'm terribly sorry," Jimmy grimaced. "That was very inappropriate."

Gibbs cast a quick glance in his agent's direction and silently applauded Palmer's breach of courtroom etiquette when, for the first time in too long, he spotted the ghost of a smile flash across Tony's face.

Judge Brayden pounded his gavel loudly.

"Members of the gallery will remain silent or they will be removed from this courtroom," he said glaring accusingly at Palmer before turning back to the defence attorney. "You may proceed, Mr Scott."

"I have one more question, Doctor Mallard," Scott said. "Agent McGee has told the court that when he and Agent DiNozzo were injured a short time ago, they were both prescribed a very low dose of Percodan."

"That is correct," Ducky stated.

"Doctor, could the reason the Percodan had a much greater effect on Agent DiNozzo, be due to the fact that he was already buzzing?"

"Absolutely not!" Ducky replied. "Different people have different tolerance levels. In fact, I believe-"

"The question is a simple one, Doctor," Scott persisted. "However, since you seem to be having some difficulty I will rephrase it. In your capacity as a physician would a low dose of Percodan have a greater impact on a person who is already under the influence of a similar substance?"

Ducky glared at the defence attorney with all the dignified contempt he could muster and then answered in the only way he could.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Doctor Mallard, you have confirmed what we already suspected. I have no further questions," Scott smiled pompously and walked back to his seat placing the copies of the drug tests on the table in front of him.

"Commander Barnes, do you have any questions for Doctor Mallard?" the judge asked.

"I do, Your Honour," Pete replied rising to his feet and swiping the drug tests from the defence counselor "Doctor Mallard, I have here copies of the three drug tests in which Special Agent DiNozzo tested positive to opiates and or amphetamines. Would you please summarise the circumstances that led to the positive results?"

"Certainly," Ducky said accepting the reports from the JAG Officer. "The first incident occurred when Anthony contracted a serious respiratory infection after repeatedly diving into the Potomac River where Special Agent Gibbs and a young civilian woman were trapped in a submerged vehicle. The second occurred when he was struck in the face with a rifle butt and rendered unconscious. He suffered from headaches for a day or two; nothing too serious. Special Agent McGee previously mentioned the third incident; Anthony attempted to subdue a suspect and sustained a broken nose."

"And these medications were all prescribed by a licensed practitioner?"

"Yes they were," Ducky replied.

"Could these prescribed medications cause the positive results?"

"Oh most certainly. Many medications, including some popular cold and flu remedies, contain ephedrine and will give a positive result for amphetamines to which they are closely related. In addition, any strong pain killers containing codeine will show positive to opiates."

"I note, that the records kept on these drug tests are very detailed."

"Of course," Ducky replied. "Details of the type of medication and dosages, the prescribing doctor, the dates of the injury or diagnosis are all carefully recorded and cross-checked against the results of the tests."

"So the three positive drug test results Special Agent DiNozzo returned are all very well documented and were deemed legitimate."

"That is correct," Ducky said.

"Doctor Mallard, in your capacity as a physician, have you ever noticed any signs that would indicated that Agent DiNozzo had a drug problem?"

"I categorically have not."

"Thank you, Doctor," the commander said. "I have no further questions."

"Mr Scott, do you wish to redirect?" the judge asked.

"Not at this time, Your Honour," Scott replied.

"Doctor Mallard, you may step down," Judge Brayden said.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Grayson leaned close to his attorney so he wouldn't be overheard.

"Why didn't you redirect?" he whispered harshly.

"I told you," Scott said. "This is a hearing. We don't have to prove anything we just have to establish reasonable doubt."

"What was all that about DiNozzo having a history with drugs?"

"That was the knife to the gut," Scott said with a feral smile. "Now it's time to twist the blade."

Scott rose to his feet and cleared his voice.

"The defence calls NCIS Director, Leon Vance to the stand."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

A/N Phew, a huge amount of dialogue. Courtroom scene wraps up next chapter as Vance, Gibbs and Tony take the stand. Hope you'll join me. So blessed to have your support, L


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

A/N:- Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the storyline flowing...throw in a little suspension of disbelief and presto!

Many thanks for your support, reviews and alerts, L.

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Nine**

Abby glanced across the room at McGee and could not deny life to the smile that formed on her lips. The IT Specialist sat forward in his chair, his mouth hanging open in what Tony called his genius guppy expression. Completely focused on his computer monitor she could almost see the thoughts racing through his highly intelligent mind as he made some minor modifications to the program he desperately hoped would decrypt the proxy server on the Grayson's account. Her focus came back to the present as Fornell snapped his cell closed and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

"That was Dave Branson," he said. "He's the former FBI agent who led the investigation into Grayson Industries ten years ago."

"Does he have any information that can help us?" Ziva asked.

"Nothing concrete. But he never believed the case was shutdown because of manpower issues. He thinks someone shut it down because his team was getting too close something."

"Too close to what?"

"He didn't know," Fornell said.

"This is getting us nowhere," Ziva said throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "There has to be _something_ that ties Grayson to the attempt on Tony's life and the murders of our agents. We cannot allow that man to walk free."

"The devil will send out for heaters before Gibbs lets that happen," Fornell said as he stepped away to answer his ringing cell.

Ziva watched him go with a puzzled frown on her face.

"He means hell will freeze over," McGee clarified as he joined them.

"Then why did he not just say that?" Ziva hissed.

"Stockton's SUV has finally arrived in the evidence garage," McGee said, grateful for a change of topic. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find something there."

As the agents and Abby turned to leave, Fornell called McGee back into the room.

"Something wrong?" the younger man asked.

"I was thinking about Stockton," Fornell said to McGee. "There's a restricted site used by all US intelligence agencies. The FBI use it to create new identities for the witness protection program. What are the chances that someone hacked into it and created Stockton's new identity?"

"Unlikely…unless, of course, you could penetrate the multiple layers of highly encrypted firewalls, avoid the hundreds of intrusion detectors and navigate the extremely sophistic-"

He found himself on the receiving end of a Gibbs-like glare and he shortened his reply.

"Er…you'd need top-level clearance."

"Then we're looking for someone senior from one of the government agencies, right?" Fornell said, frowning in thought. "If I log onto the site, could you…I don't know, trace it somehow?"

"You can access that site?" McGee asked. "You need top-level clearance."

Fornell shrugged.

"There are times when being a senior FBI agent and a liaison for Homeland Security has its advantages."

"If you can get me in, I can find the entry and that should give us the name of the agent involved," McGee said, suddenly enthused by the possibility of a new lead.

Sitting at Abby's computer, Fornell logged on to the restricted site before turning the keyboard over to McGee. Typing commands faster than Fornell could read them the younger man quickly accessed the archived records of 1990 and stilled as a warning message appeared.

"We're being blocked," he said.

"By who?"

"Can't tell you who, but I can tell you from where," McGee replied. "Langley, Virginia."

"The CIA," they said in unison.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"The defence calls NCIS Director, Leon Vance to the stand."

Vance buttoned his suit jacket and adjusted his tie before making his way to the witness box where he was sworn in by the court officer. The defence attorney, Cameron Scott, looked thoughtful as he posed his first question.

"Director Vance, were you aware of Special Agent DiNozzo's failed drug tests?"

"I was," Vance said.

"And yet you took no disciplinary action and there was no internal investigation."

"All but one of those tests took place before I became director," Vance replied in his no nonsense manner. "However, as Doctor Mallard stated, in every case, Agent DiNozzo was taking prescribed medication for injuries that occurred in the line of duty. I can assure you that the appropriate inquiries were made and satisfied; the correct paperwork was completed and is evident in his file. I'm quite sure you received copies."

The director appeared relaxed and composed but his dark eyes burned with deep resentment. If Cameron Scott was coming after one of his agents, he'd have to get through him first…and then Gibbs.

"Recently, you broke up the MCRT – your flagship team - and assigned DiNozzo as agent afloat to the USS Ronald Reagan," Scott said.

"I did."

"My sources say that DiNozzo's reassignment was punishment for an undisclosed screw-up."

"Objection, Your Honour, hearsay!" Commander Barnes said.

"I reiterate, Your Honour, that Agent DiNozzo's effectiveness as an agent is particularly relevant given the seriousness of his charges against my client," Scott said.

"Overruled, I'll allow the question," the judge replied.

"It was not a punishment," Vance said. "There were mitigating circumstances as to why the MCRT was split up – none of which have anything to do with the performance of any member of that team."

Scott snorted humourlessly.

"You sent DiNozzo to sea."

"The position of agent afloat on an aircraft carrier is a promotion from Agent DiNozzo's current position as senior field agent on the MCRT," Vance said. "As I am not if the habit of promoting agents who, as you put it, screw-up, it would appear that your source was misinformed."

"Yet when the MCRT was reformed and you had ample opportunity to reinstate DiNozzo, you did not want him back on the team. Is this correct?"

"Yes it is," Vance said. "I did not want Agent DiNozzo back on the team."

"Thank you, Director," Scott said. "No further questions, Your Honour."

The director chanced a quick look into the gallery and met Tony's gaze. The thinly veiled disappointment flashed briefly before the younger man averted his eyes.

"Your witness, Commander Barnes," the judge stated as the JAG officer scribbled some notes and rose to his feet.

"Director Vance, would you tell the court the duties of an NCIS special agent afloat?" the commander asked.

"NCIS assigns special agents afloat aboard US aircraft carriers and other large Navy vessels to provide investigative, counterintelligence and force protection support to deployed Navy and Marine Corps commanders," Vance explained. "The assignment offers many of the same investigative challenges found by any criminal investigator working in a metropolitan city. The agent must be skilled in general criminal investigations including crime scene examination, interview techniques and use of proactive law enforcement procedures to stop criminal activity before it occurs. The special agent afloat also provides guidance on foreign counterintelligence matters, including terrorism and threat assessment issues."

"And you obviously believed that Agent DiNozzo could handle these responsibilities," Pete added.

"Objection – leading the witness," Scott claimed.

"I'll rephrase. Why did you assign Agent DiNozzo to the position of agent afloat?"

"Two years prior, my predecessor offered DiNozzo his own team at our office in Rota, Spain. He turned it down. At the time I reassigned him, I wanted to see if DiNozzo could handle the extra responsibility."

"And did he?" the JAG officer asked.

"He did," Vance replied. "On the Reagan and later on the SeaHawk he performed exceptionally. The captains of both carriers spoke highly of his performance. Yes, I was reluctant to bring DiNozzo back to DC but not because I didn't want him…it was because he was doing a first rate job."

"Thank you, Director I have no further questions."

Gibbs watched as the director made his way through the swing gate and stopped at the end of the aisle. He exchanged a brief nod with Tony before leaving the courtroom and returning to his duties at the Navy yard. Vance had made no secret of the fact that he preferred agents who were more comfortable in front of a computer than a firing range and when it came to DiNozzo, the director had been a hard sell. It was satisfying for Gibbs to see that the man finally understood and accepted that "old-school" investigators like him and Tony were essential to the ongoing viability of NCIS.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Dented and bullet-ridden from its violent encounter with Jackson and Tony, the gunman's SUV was towed into the evidence garage. Ziva had located a wallet and a TracFone secreted deep inside the driver's seat. She had determined the cell had received and made several calls to another TracFone that was currently turned off or had been discarded and she was now attempting to trace where the cells had been purchased.

The physical evidence collected 10-years ago from the murder scenes of Grayson Industries whistle-blowers Nick Hollister and Henry Bedford had arrived in good time and was being meticulously reprocessed by Abby.

The forensic specialist was particularly interested in two different DNA samples located at the scene – one had belonged to the victim Nick Hollister and the other, presumably, belonged to the murderer. Fornell watched as Abby keyed the details into her computer.

"What makes you so sure you'll find something they didn't?" he asked.

"Because I totally believe in the power of positive thoughts," Abby replied. "Besides, the DNA database has, like, an extra ten years of samples."

"We're running out of time. How long is this gonna take?" he asked.

"You are just like Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed balling her hands on her hips in frustration. "We're making intricate DNA comparisons here, not two-minute noodles."

"Just asking!" he said, stepping back and raising both hands to placate her. His lips formed a crooked grin. "Just like Gibbs, eh?"

"Well, maybe not _just_ like Gibbs. I mean, he's a little taller and has this amazing silver hair and these, like, really deep blue eyes. He brings me Caf-Pow and kisses me on the cheek and says "atta girl Abs" when I find him a lead and…and…"

The beeping of Abby's computer put an end to her monologue and she looked at it in surprise.

"What is it?" Fornell asked.

"The noodles are ready," she quipped. "We got a match."

"I thought you said this could take a while, how could you get a match so fast?"

"Because the sample of our murderer from ten years ago, is an exact match of a sample I reviewed this morning."

"You gotta name?"

Abby typed a few commands on her keyboard and the overhead plasma came to life.

"William Arthur Stockton," she grinned, pointing at a photo of the dead gunman.

"Well, what do ya know?" Fornell muttered.

Leaning in quickly he gave the Goth a quick peck on the cheek. "Atta girl Abs."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

JAG Prosecutor, Commander Barnes turned to Tony and Gibbs in the gallery and winced as he watched his friend massaging a painful spasm from his right thigh. Fine tremors were becoming more noticeable and the stubborn determination holding Tony together was quickly wearing thin.

"You're up next, Gibbs," Pete said. "We knew Scott was going to skew the facts and try to discredit Tony. He's going to try to exploit your friendship; get to Tony through you."

"Not gonna happen," Gibbs said definitively.

"Just stay cool and stick to the facts. If we take a few hits we'll repair the damage during the cross-examination. Just…stay…calm," Pete stressed.

"I got it," Gibbs replied as the court officer called him to the stand.

Tony felt a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder as his boss moved passed him on his way to the witness box. Cameron Scott paced theatrically waiting for Gibbs to be sworn in before posing his first question.

"Special Agent Gibbs, how long have you known Agent DiNozzo?"

"Over eight years," Gibbs replied, offering no more or no less than was asked.

"And DiNozzo has been your senior field agent for the entire eight years," Scott stated.

"No."

"No? Would you care to elaborate?"

"I took a three month leave of absence and DiNozzo completed a three month assignment as special agent afloat."

"I see," Scott replied thoughtfully. "Would you consider Agent DiNozzo a competent law enforcement officer?"

Gibbs had never been one to speak openly of such things and for a moment the words stuck in his throat. Taking a few deep breaths he stared at the ceiling and gathered his thoughts before locking eyes with his agent.

"Special Agent DiNozzo…is the best young agent I've ever worked with."

In the gallery, Tony saw the pride reflected in the older man's eyes and allowed the sentiment to steady and strengthen him.

"The _best_ young agent," Scott repeated. "That's high praise indeed. Tell me, Agent Gibbs, does the name Renny Grant mean anything to you?"

The former Marine narrowed his eyes and straightened his back.

"I'll ask again," Scott said. "Agent Gibbs, does the name Renny Grant mean anything to you?"

Gibbs sighed heavily.

"Renny Grant was a Pentagon employee who was tried and wrongfully convicted of embezzlement three years ago."

"NCIS headed the investigation, correct?"

"Correct."

"Please tell the court who led the investigation and made the arrest that resulted in an innocent man being jailed for three years?"

The muscles along Gibbs jaw line contracted as he bit down on his anger.

"Your Honour?" Scott said impatiently.

"Special Agent Gibbs, you will answer the question," Judge Brayden directed.

After a moment of thunderous silence, Gibbs reluctantly replied.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

Scott laughed humourlessly.

"It seems Agent DiNozzo is no stranger to having innocent men arrested."

"Objection, Your Honour - argumentative," Pete protested.

"Sustained," the judge replied.

"I withdraw the statement," Scott said with a smirk as he walked to his desk and opened a thick file. "Special Agent DiNozzo's personnel file makes for fascinating reading. As his direct supervisor, I assume you're familiar with it?"

"I am."

"Then you would no doubt be aware that in addition to his role in the wrongful imprisonment of an innocent man, over the course of the last few years DiNozzo has been implicated in many serious indiscretions."

"Special Agent DiNozzo was-"

Cutting off Gibbs' defence of his agent, Cameron Scott read from Tony's personnel file.

"DiNozzo exposed the entire agency to a deadly airborne pathogen when he opened an unscreened letter in direct violation of strict agency protocol," he said. "The CIA accused DiNozzo of sabotaging a vitally important operation they had been working on for over a year. Coincidentally, he then jeopardised his own undercover assignment when he developed feelings for the daughter of an international arms dealer. And last, but by no means least, DiNozzo has been a person of interest in _three,_I repeat_, three _separate murder investigations."

Scott replaced the file and turned back to Gibbs smiling in a way that looked more like he was baring his teeth.

"If this is an example of the best young agent you have ever worked with, Agent Gibbs, then I would hate to see the worst."

Gibbs felt the anger building in him, fuelled, as it often was by someone coming after his agent. He forced himself to remain calm.

"Agent DiNozzo was completely exonerated of any-"

"Based on this information," Scott interrupted again. "It is not difficult to believe that DiNozzo is a highly inept agent whose mistakes and erratic behaviour can be attributed to a serious drug problem that existed well before his latest assignment."

The former Marine's expression hardened and his cold fury hovered just below the surface.

"We found him tied up, beaten and damn near dead," Gibbs hissed. "You think he did that to himself?"

"I think you and Dr Mallard have spent so long covering for your _friend _that you've lost sight of the fact that DiNozzo is a screw-up and a drug addict who has no right working as a federal agent!"

"_And I think you wouldn't know a good agent if one bit you on the ass!"_ Gibbs yelled.

Commander Barnes' loud objections competed with Scott and Gibbs sounding off at each other but it was Judge Brayden wielding his gavel resoundingly that increased Tony's headache tenfold. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his throbbing head into his hands.

"Way to keep calm, Boss," he groaned.

Gibbs was furious with himself. He realised a long time ago that while his close friendship with his senior field agent was his strength, it was also his Achilles heel. A weakness that Cameron Scott not only exposed but ground into the dust with his heel. He looked across at his agent, immediately concerned when he saw Tony's head in his hands. As the younger man slowly raised his head, he looked in Gibbs' direction and surprised him with a grin that promised plenty of hazing regarding the former Marine's rare lack of control.

After restoring order to his courtroom Judge Brayden called the counsellors to the bench, read them the riot act and threatened to hold them all in contempt if there was a repeat of their unacceptable behaviour.

Having inflicted the desired amount of damage, Cameron Scott had no further questions for Gibbs and the pair exchanged mutually disdainful eye contact before Scott resumed his seat.

"Commander Barnes," the judge called. "You may begin your cross-examination."

"Thank you, Your Honour," Pete said approaching Gibbs in the witness box. "Agent Gibbs, we have already established from your testimony that you have known Special Agent DiNozzo for over eight years. Can you tell us how you met?"

"Painfully," Gibbs quipped.

"I'm sorry?"

"DiNozzo was working homicide for Baltimore PD. I was undercover as a dealer," Gibbs lips quirked at the recollection. "I ran, he chased; he tackled, I punched; he stuck a gun in my face and arrested me."

"According to Agent DiNozzo's personnel file you recommended he join NCIS?"

"I did."

"Please tell the court what prompted your recommendation?" the JAG officer asked.

"Rule number five," Gibbs said with the smallest of grins for his agent.

"I don't understand."

"Tony made detective early; had an impressive arrest record and a good feel for undercover work," Gibbs shrugged. "He had his own style, his own way of doing things but he followed orders, was a quick learner."

"Agent DiNozzo was a prime suspect in two murder investigations and a person of interest in another," Pete said.

"The first instance, DiNozzo was completely exonerated by the FBI - a neutral agency. The second, the witness recanted her statement and admitted she lied."

"And the third?"

"Tony had an ironclad alibi."

"Agent Gibbs, the defence has suggested that the investigation and subsequent conviction of Renny Grant was the result of Agent DiNozzo's incompetence. Would you agree with that assessment?"

"Objection, Your Honour," Scott protested. "We have already established that Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo have a close friendship. I am not satisfied that Agent Gibbs can be relied upon to be impartial in this matter."

"Commander?"

"With all due respect, Your Honour, Special Agent Gibbs is the recipient of several Navy Meritorious Civilian Service Awards. He has twenty years experience as a federal agent and leads an MCRT with an impressive case closure record. He has worked closely with Agent DiNozzo for eight years and knows him better than anybody. I believe his opinion to be very pertinent."

The judge tapped a long finger to his lips before replying.

"I'll allow the question."

"Agent Gibbs, do you believe the wrongful imprisonment of Renny Grant was the result of Agent DiNozzo's incompetence?" Peter asked.

"Nope. We do our best to get it right…sometimes mistakes happen," Gibbs replied flatly. "As acting team leader, the buck stopped with DiNozzo but he worked harder than anyone to make it right."

Gibbs turned in his seat to face the judge.

"You really wanna know what kind of agent DiNozzo is…what kind of man? Read his file, his _whole_ file…speaks for itself."

"No further questions, Your Honour," Commander Barnes said.

"Mr Scott?" the judge asked.

"No questions at this time, Your Honour," he replied.

"Special Agent Gibbs, you may step down," the judge said

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Having been brought up to date with the investigation, Vance and Fornell returned to the director's office to contact his counterpart at the CIA and demand information regarding Stockton's real identity. Although his facial expression was composed, his voice contained a rare edge that told Fornell he was not about to let the CIA mess with one of his agents. Vance's inscrutability was sorely tested when he was told that the Director of the CIA was suddenly unreachable.

Ziva had traced the purchase of the TracFones to a Radio Shack store in Georgetown. The cells were purchase the day before Stockton arrived in the USA and the store was having the CCTV footage sent over.

Checking immigration and customs records, Abby confirmed that Stockton had returned from Spain to the US for one week that coincided with the death of whistle-blower Henry Bedford. He had returned eight months later when the second whistle-blower, Nick Hollister, was murdered. Having now placed Stockton at the murders of the whistle-blowers, the NCIS safe house and Tony's attempted murder, it was clear the man was connected to Thomas Grayson…the only thing they couldn't prove was how.

The message from Gibbs at the courthouse was loud and clear – probable cause was a last resort; they needed irrefutable evidence to put Grayson away forever. McGee flexed the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders, feeling the overwhelming pressure. Symbols were racing across the screen, rapidly changing shape and transforming one to the next. The program was searching its files for all permutations of the passwords that would decrypt the proxy server and allow access to the IP addresses of Grayson's computers. Suddenly the hypnotic flow of symbols ground to a dead stop and McGee's heart skipped a beat. His emotions soared and then crashed in a second as the centre of the screen displayed a legend in red: Access Denied. He pounded his fist onto the desk and cursed loudly.

"Dammit!"

**0-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

The commander stood before Tony, his expression intense as he gave his friend last minute instructions and assurances. Tony was wound tighter than a spring and felt ready to shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest provocation. He struggled to remain focused on Pete's words and nodded in what he hoped were all the right places.

It was back…the darkness within him coiled tightly around his soul, trapping him in his own private purgatory and refusing to relinquish its hold. Fear beat fast in his chest and for an instant he was all at sea, as if a sudden squall had knocked him off-course. He forced it from his mind and closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

"Fine," Tony managed.

His voice was brittle and the lie transparent. Eight years as the man's team leader had taught Gibbs many things, including the ability to read the mood of his senior field agent by his body language. In their line of work, the kind of stress they faced either tore people apart or forged them together for life. Tony flinched as Cameron Scott made the expected announcement.

"The defence calls Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo to the stand."

Tony closed his eyes again and took a moment to gather himself. He felt Gibbs' fingers wrap around his bicep to steady him as he climbed to his feet. Weary, pain-filled eyes locked with Gibbs' and with one intense look he received the silent power of the former Marine's belief in him. Deepening the intensity of his gaze, Gibbs communicated what he could not say out loud:

'_You can do this.'_

"I gotcha, Boss," Tony replied, understanding the silent message loud and clear.

With one arm wrapped protectively around his rib-cage, Tony walked shakily to the witness box and was sworn in. Gibbs watched his agent go, knowing he was holding himself together through sheer force of will and hoping like hell that it would be enough.

"Special Agent DiNozzo," Scott began. "We have already heard examples of how your blatant disregard for safety protocol nearly caused a biochemical catastrophe at NCIS headquarters; how you sent an innocent man to prison for three years and you have been accused of murder no less than three times!"

The agent rolled his eyes theatrically.

"Well, _yeah,_" he drawled. "It sounds bad when you say it like that."

Scott threw him a look that could have started another ice age.

"Given your history of recklessness, do you really expect us to believe that on three separate occasions you were set-up or the victim of a wrongful accusation?"

"What can I say," Tony shrugged. "In my line of work, friends come and go but enemies accumulate."

"I must admit that I find the fact that you are still working as a US Federal Agent deplorable and downright offensive. I believe you are a danger to those who work with you and those who you have sworn to protect. However, in the interest of justice, I would like to give you the opportunity to explain these acts of failure and ineptitude."

Tony's bark of sarcastic laughter echoed around the courtroom.

"I gotta tell ya, Cam, I'm a little disappointed," he said with a shake of his head. "With a bit of extra effort I'm sure you could have put that more bluntly."

Seated in the gallery, a tiny grin tugged at the corners of Gibbs' mouth. The unique mix of sarcasm, humour and impertinence was the signature characteristic of his younger partner and the former gunny was glad to see it. He hoped like hell that Tony had the strength to keep it up.

"Agent DiNozzo!" the judge warned.

"Sorry, Your Honour," Tony replied with a grimace. "But he started it."

"And I'm ending it," Judge Brayden admonished.

Biting back a grin, the JAG commander rose to his feet.

"Your Honour," he said. "These matters were already raised and suitably addressed by Special Agent DiNozzo's superiors."

"Mr Scott," the judge asked. "Do you believe Agent DiNozzo can shed any new light on these matters?"

"Um…no, Your Honour," Scott replied.

"Then the objection is sustained, move on Mr Scott," the judge replied.

Scott shuffled the papers in his hands before continuing.

"Agent DiNozzo, would you please tell the court the events leading up to your most recent undercover assignment?" Scott said.

"There had been an increased number of drug related incidents involving Navy personnel both at home and deployed," Tony replied almost by rote. "We determined through forensic testing that the drugs originated from the same manufacturer and we believed the distribution was via the Navy Supply Corps."

"What was the objective of this assignment?"

"To stop it," Tony replied to a few snickers from the gallery.

As Scott opened his mouth to protest, Tony added.

"The investigation had two primary objectives – find and charge those responsible for the distribution of the drugs and track down the source of the drugs."

"And that led you to Evan Grayson?"

"Yes." Tony rasped as his abdomen seized and then relaxed. Sweat beaded on his pale face in mute testament to how painful the spasm had been.

"According to your statement, while you were undercover, you befriended Evan Grayson and were a part of his organization for a period of six weeks. During that time, did you see Evan Grayson commit any illegal activity?"

"Yes," Tony said swiping his hand over his sweaty forehead.

"That's right…according to your statement, you witnessed Evan Grayson brokering illegal drug importation deals and selling large quantities of a heroin based substance to various drug dealers in the tri-state area. Why did you not arrest him at that time?"

"We still didn't know the identity of Grayson's contact in the Navy Supply Corps," Tony replied, as he continued gamely. "Evan Grayson was expecting a large shipment of heroin. We hoped the arrival of the drugs would also reveal the identity of his contacts in the Navy and the US Customs."

"With the exception of a Cayman Island bank account that in no way implicates my client, during your lengthy and close association with Evan Grayson, did you find any evidence to suggest that his father, Thomas Grayson, was complicit in any illegal activity?"

"Evan bragged, several times, that his father had not only funded the operation but he had set him up with law enforcement and criminal contacts in the drug trade."

"Evan told you this?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone witness these…conversations?"

Tony paused a moment to recollect.

"Evan's cousin Billy Matthews and two of Evan's friends, Sam Waterson and Joe Foster."

"Billy Matthews, Samuel Waterson and Joseph Foster are all dead and therefore cannot corroborate your story. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"How convenient that you seem to be the only one alive today," Grayson sniped.

"Not for them," Tony countered.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, in your own words, take us through the events that led to your cover being blown and what happened subsequently," Scott said.

"Objection, Your Honour," the commander said rising to his feet. "The defence was provided with a copy of Special Agent DiNozzo's detailed and sworn statement. This is a hearing not a trial and I see no reason to force the witness recount these painful events at this time."

"Mr Scott?" the judge asked.

"I would ask the court's indulgence, Your Honour," Scott replied. "Due to the grossly exaggerated report of Agent DiNozzo's death and his…miraculous resurrection, I have not had the opportunity to depose this witness."

"Your Honour, Special Agent DiNozzo was found by his team mates beaten and near death," Pete countered. "Subsequently, there have been several attempts on his life, the most recent just days ago. Despite what Mr Scott may think, the false report of Agent DiNozzo's death was designed for his protection not to impede the defence."

"Be that as it may, Your Honour, without definitive proof that my client transacted on the Cayman Island bank account, the prosecution's entire case rests on the testimony of Special Agent DiNozzo," Scott argued. "His recollections of those events are pivotal to these proceedings."

"I agree," Judge Brayden replied. "Objection is overruled. Special Agent DiNozzo, you will answer the question."

In a passionless recital of events, Tony spoke in a quiet monotone his words devoid of all expression and emotion. Despite the fact that Gibbs had debriefed his agent and read his written report numerous times, he was convinced that Tony's report was a sanitized version of the truth...that something was missing. It pained the former Marine deeply to hear Tony speak of the beatings and the addiction forced upon him. As Tony continued the narrative, a flash of panic gripped him and his eyes flicked to Gibbs who soundlessly offered his agent steadfast support. Tony closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep shuddering breath. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger, as if he'd reached deep within himself and tapped an inner reserve of strength. Several moments passed before Cameron Scott resumed his questioning.

"Did you ever see Thomas Grayson at the drug warehouse?"

"No," Tony rasped.

The adrenaline that had sustained him this far, left suddenly without a backward glance. A brief wave of dizziness washed over him and for a moment he thought he might be sick. But a couple of slow, deep breaths helped to restore his composure.

"You claim that you heard Thomas Grayson speak to his son on the phone?"

Tony squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to summon the memory. He felt a sudden chill and then a burning sensation in his limbs. His vision blurred and there was a roaring in his ears…he couldn't think.

"Agent DiNozzo?" Scott pressed impatiently. "Agent DiNozzo!"

His mouth was suddenly dry and his heart pounded so fast he could hardly take a full breath. Tony was floundering and had completely lost the line of questioning.

"M'sorry…could you…could you repeat the question?"

"Did you or did you not hear Thomas Grayson speak to his son Evan by phone at the warehouse?" Scott growled.

Tony's desperate eyes met Gibbs' across the courtroom and locked on to him, seeking something to hold on to. Something shifted in his expression; so subtle that Gibbs nearly didn't catch it. The older man surged to his feet and leaned forward to grasp Pete by the shoulder.

"Get him outta there," he hissed loudly. "Now!"

As Tony reached for the water glass it slipped from his trembling fingers and shattered on the highly polished floor. The incessant pounding in his temples increased until his skull felt like it was about to split in two. His handsome face contorted as he tried to breathe through the pain. On the brink of sensory overload, Tony's head filled with shadowy figures, white noise and nonsense as he struggled to remain conscious.

"Your Honour," Pete said urgently. "Prosecution requests a recess - the witness is not well."

"Objection, Your Honour," Scott protested. "I believe this witness is trying to delay proceedings to avoid answering the question."

Judge Brayden frowned deeply as he considered his decision.

"The witness is clearly unwell, Mr Scott. This court will recess for thirty minutes while Agent DiNozzo is medically assessed," he announced. "Commander Barnes, I will expect to see you and Mr Scott in my chambers in five minutes."

The court officer barely had time to instruct people to rise before Judge Brayden disappeared through a backdoor into his chambers.

Gibbs was already at Tony's side when Pete moved in to assist and the bailiff stepped closer.

"There's a guest office just down the hall with a couch and private facilities," he said.

"Give me a hand," Gibbs said to Pete as Tony's knees buckled and he slithered toward the floor. They managed to each capture a shoulder and assisted him from the courtroom.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

A/N …and when I said this was the last courtroom scene, of course, I meant the _second_ last courtroom scene. Tony's down but he's not out. I hope you'll join me for the next chapter, L


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional**

A/N:- Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the story line flowing. It has been remiss of me not to thank those reviewers who do not sign in or prefer to remain anonymous, some of whom have reviewed every chapter, many thanks, L.

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Ten**

Leon Vance and Tobias Fornell made the short trip to CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia in good time. With a tinge of regret, they sidestepped the flustered secretary and entered the director's office.

Director Neville Tobin was a large ruddy-faced man known for his hard-assed demeanour but with an obvious liking for the business dinners and banquets that came with schmoozing politicians. He looked up from his desk, more irritated than startled by the unannounced interruption, and dismissed his apologetic secretary with a distracted wave of his pudgy hand.

"Leon," he greeted with feigned pleasure. " Good to see you. Had you let me know you were coming we could have had lunch."

"Had you taken my call, I could have told you," Vance countered.

Tobin's smile froze and he gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk.

"I believe you know Agent Fornell," Vance stated.

Tobin nodded.

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call?"

"Is it ever? Tell me about William Arthur Stockton."

"Stockton! That file has got to be twenty years old; it's non-active."

"Stockton killed two of my agents and attempted to kill a third. He's lying on a slab in our morgue," Vance said. "I'd say it's extremely active."

Tobin's eyes narrowed and he keyed several commands into his computer and gave a small shake of his head.

"I'd like to help you, Leon, but the case it still classified."

"Read us in," Vance replied in a tone that left little room for negotiation.

"You know how these things work; I can't do that."

"We can place Stockton at the murder scene of three civilians and two of my agents," Vance repeated with quiet determination. "Either you read us in, or ZNN will run an expose tonight on how the CIA turned a blind eye to someone on their witness protection list murdering US citizens on home soil."

Tobin's dark eyes hardened.

"You wouldn't," he hissed.

Vance nodded to Fornell who withdrew his cell from his pocket and quickly keyed a number. He placed it on speaker and it rang several times before the call was answered.

"ZNN news desk, can I help you?" the reporter asked as Fornell lifted an quizzical eyebrow.

"Your choice," Vance said.

"Alright, alright, I don't need anymore trouble from the DNI than I already have," Tobin growled. "But you'll owe me one, Leon, and I'll collect."

"I don't doubt that for a minute," Vance responded as Fornell closed his cell. "We know that Stockton is linked to Thomas Grayson of Grayson Industries. What we don't know is how?"

After more keying the director look up from his computer.

"Stockton's real name is Jonathon Bailey."

"Bailey?" Fornell said. "Grayson's former business partner? He was supposedly killed in a boating accident."

"According to his file, Bailey crossed the local Mafioso – they put a contract out on him. He suffered horrific facial injuries needed reconstructive surgery."

"Where does the CIA fit into this?" Vance asked.

"Bailey and Grayson were into prostitution, illegal gambling, you name it. But the CIA was more interested in their connections with gunrunners and drug dealers in Columbia, El Salvador and Venezuela."

"So, Grayson and Bailey introduced your people to their connections and you set Bailey up with a new ID in Spain."

"That about covers it?"

"Who's Bailey's CIA contact?" Fornell asked. "Surely someone had to know he was coming and going?"

"That wasn't part of the deal. Once he had his new ID, he was on his own," Tobin said.

"Why is the case still classified?" Vance asked.

"I have no idea. As far as I'm aware, we shut down that operation fifteen years ago."

Vance scribbled Abby's email address on the back of his business card and passed it to his CIA counterpart.

"I'd appreciate it if you could forward a copy of Bailey's fingerprints to my forensic specialist ASAP," he said.

Fornell and Vance had reached the door before the man spoke again.

"Leon, I'm sorry about your agents."

Vance nodded in acknowledgement and followed Fornell through the door.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Almost out on his feet, Tony staggered drunkenly between Gibbs and the commander. The fact that he submitted to their aid without complaint or embarrassment spoke clearly of his deteriorating condition. Following the bailiff, they half dragged, half carried the younger man to the guest office and lowered him gently onto the couch.

"I have to see the judge in his chambers," Pete said looking with concern at his friend. "I'll petition for a postponement and send Doctor Mallard in. You got him?"

"I got him," Gibbs said, helping Tony out of his jacket and tie.

The commander gave Tony a quick pat on the shoulder before heading out.

"M'sorry, Boss," Tony muttered, gritting his teeth and wrapping his arm protectively around his injured ribs.

"Take it easy," Gibbs replied with thinly veiled concern.

Right on cue the door swung open again and Ducky, Palmer and Jackson entered. The ME cast sharp assessing eyes over his ailing young friend before slipping into full doctor mode.

"Jackson, would you and Jethro be so kind as to move the coffee table closer and elevate Anthony's feet," he instructed as he placed his medical bag on the nearby desk and removed the blood pressure monitor. "Mister Palmer, I believe I spotted a vending machine at the end of the hall. Be a good lad and fetch Anthony a chocolate bar and some fruit juice - something to lift his sugar levels."

"Yes, Doctor," Jimmy said scooting quickly out the door.

"M'fine, Ducky," Tony slurred.

"He's lying," Gibbs and Jackson said in unison before exchanging an surprised look.

"Yes, I can see that," Ducky said shaking his head. "Come now, young man, let's not waste my hard earned medical degree, hmm?"

After confirming Tony's blood pressure and, most likely, his blood sugar levels had dropped considerably, Ducky continued to assess the younger man's physical condition. His skin was ashen and his eyes were hollowed by fatigue and pain. The purplish smudges under both eyes stood out starkly against his pale cheeks and dark lashes. The muscle spasms were painful and struck without warning but another dose of Subutex lessened the alternating sweating and chills.

Palmer had arrived back with chocolate and juice that thankfully helped to chase Tony's dizziness away, though it remained to be seen whether he could keep the sweet sustenance down. The younger man appeared more alert but he desperately needed sleep and rest to regain his strength. Ducky hoped fervently that a postponement of the hearing would be granted.

The ME's attention shifted to Gibbs who was sitting shoulder to shoulder beside his agent. While the action seemed innocuous at best, the former Marine knew Tony would draw strength from the contact. He watched as the lead agent nudged Tony with his elbow and raised his eyebrows.

_Okay?_

Tony looked over and gave a slight nod in reply to the silent question.

_Fine, Boss._

The former Marine rolled his eyes in reply.

_Like hell you are._

The younger man responded with a tiny shrug of one shoulder.

_I will be._

Gibbs nodded curtly.

_I know._

The ME marvelled at the two men, communicating volumes in an unspoken language in which he would never truly be fluent. Something tied these men together; some weird chemistry he'd never understand. He doubted they understood it either but it bonded them and kept them in sync in a way that medical science could never adequately explain.

Fifteen long minutes passed before Commander Barnes walked back into the room.

"How's he doing?" Pete asked.

"You could ask me, you know," Tony told his friend, offering a grimace that masqueraded as a smile.

"Not if he wants the truth," Gibbs and Jackson quipped, exchanging another comical glance.

Tony rolled his eyes theatrically.

"Great…now I got Gibbs in stereo."

"I do believe that Messrs Gibbs have your number, young man," Ducky chuckled.

"What's going on, Commander?" Gibbs asked.

"The news isn't good," Pete replied looking at his watch. "Court resumes in 10 minutes. I tried to call Director Vance for an update but I couldn't reach him."

"They'd be here if they had something," Gibbs said cursing under his breath.

Ducky turned to the JAG officer.

"Commander, surely there is something we can do to postpone this hearing," he said. "At least until Anthony has sufficiently recovered."

"I'm afraid not, Doctor," Pete replied. "This is an evidentiary hearing. For this case to go to trial we need probable cause of Grayson's involvement or definitive proof and at the moment, Judge Brayden is not convinced we have either."

"Perhaps I could have a word with the judge and explain Anthony's condition," Ducky suggested.

"Believe me, Doctor, he's well aware of Tony's condition."

"Meaning what?" Gibbs said.

"Meaning I have a bad feeling that as soon as Tony gets back on the stand, Cameron Scott is going to turn the tables and try to make _him_ look like the criminal."

"He can't prove what doesn't exist, son," Jackson said.

"Like I said, this is a hearing, not a trial," Pete replied. "He doesn't have to prove it if he can convince the judge that there is sufficient probable cause."

"And if he does?" Jackson wanted to know.

"Judge Brayden will find in favour of the defendant and release Grayson."

"What about Tony?" Gibbs asked.

Pete sighed heavily.

"Tony will be charged, held to answer and the court will schedule an arraignment."

"Oh my," Ducky said grimly.

A look of defeat flittered across Tony's face and disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It was an expression Gibbs had rarely seen his agent wear and he found it troubling. Following a loud knock, the bailiff poked his head around the door.

"Court is due to resume in five minutes," he said.

Uttering reassurances they hoped were true, Ducky and Palmer and Pete returned to the courtroom leaving Tony, Gibbs and Jackson alone. The elder Gibbs placed both hands on Tony's shoulders and fixed his eyes on the younger man for a long moment.

"You listen to me, son," he said. "You are ten times the man Thomas Grayson is and you've come through to much to be brought undone by the likes of that Cameron Scott fella…you remember that, you hear me?"

"I will," Tony whispered when his voice choked with emotion.

He squeaked in surprise as Jack quickly drew him into a fierce hug.

"I'll see you in there," Jack said, squeezing Gibbs' shoulder as he headed back to the courtroom.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep shuddering breath. Gibbs could sense the shift in his agent's mood and knew he was on the precipice of his self-control. The former Marine's gut clenched again, knowing that Tony had been holding something back since they'd found him at the tenement house.

"Something on your mind?" he prompted gently.

Tony's faced flushed with colour and heat and he averted his gaze.

'_Come on, DiNozzo, give,' _Gibbs silently urged.

The younger man shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. Twice he opened his mouth to speak but his voice failed him. Then a shutter dropped behind his eyes, rendering them opaque and stubbornly shutting down the need to share whatever it was that was tearing him up inside.

"We better get back," he uttered quietly.

Gibbs bit back a curse - he'd been so close. There wasn't much he could do for his senior field agent at the moment but wait. He could order Tony to talk to him but he had learned long ago, and from bitter experience, that would only result in the younger man placing an almost impenetrable defensive wall between them. As difficult as it was, Gibbs did what he had always done – he watched and he waited for the younger man to understand he had to push his independence and stubbornness aside long enough to realise he needed help.

Without a word, Gibbs assisted Tony to his feet before helping him into his suit jacket and patting down an errant lapel. A laugh, lurking on the border of hysteria, bubbled up in the younger man's throat.

"Career on the line, facing overwhelming odds and possible imprisonment…I gotta tell ya, Boss, this is getting kinda old?"

Gibbs shrugged a shoulder; the smallest of smiles curving his lips and chucked his agent lightly under the chin. Tony straightened his shoulders and took as deep a breath as his broken ribs allowed.

"Let's do this," he said.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Abby walked briskly into the bullpen juggling a Caf-Pow, a fruit juice and two bagels. She spotted McGee sitting forlornly at his desk.

"I come bearing news," she announced. "And also bearing an afternoon snack."

"What is it?" he asked glumly.

"Oh, well, I know you prefer peanut butter and mashed banana and, like, who doesn't? But the store was totally out of bananas so I got you salmon and cream cheese."

McGee stared blankly in response.

"Oh! You mean what's my news? Okay, well Director Vance and Fornell went to the CIA and they got Stockton's real name," Abby said practically vibrating on the spot. "You'll never guess it, Timmy, not in, like, a squillion years."

"Why don't you just tell me," McGee replied, not sharing her excitement.

"William Arthur Stockton was formerly known as…Jonathon Bailey, Thomas Grayson's former partner."

"Bailey?" McGee said. "He's been dead for twenty years."

"He got better! Long story short, he was placed in the CIA witness protection twenty years ago."

"Bailey had a criminal record – why didn't his fingerprints match."

"Because they were expunged from the national database when the FBI received a copy of his death certificate."

"That's our connection to Grayson," McGee said feeling the pressure roll off his shoulders.

"That's our probable cause but Gibbs wanted definitive proof remember?" Abby replied chewing her lower lip. "Maybe Ziva will have something when she gets back."

"Where did she go?"

"She went to get the CCTV footage from Radio Shack."

"Alone?" McGee replied shooting to his feet. "Why didn't she tell me? What if she needs back up?"

"She's driving to a Radio Shack store, Timmy, not parachuting behind enemy lines. I think she can handle it. Besides, we all know how hard you've been working to crack that encryption; she didn't want to bother you."

McGee dropped heavily into his chair and his shoulders slumped wearily as he turned to face Abby.

"Seems like everybody's making progress but me," he said bitterly disappointed. "The Boss and Tony were counting on me, Abs!"

"Tim."

"No! I know you're just trying to help but I need to face the fact that whoever wrote this encryption code is a hell of a lot smarter than me."

"Timmy."

"This is what I do, Abby, it's my specialty. We all have unique abilities and this is mine. I feel like I've let them down."

"_McGee!_" Abby yelled.

"_What?" _McGee startled.

Abby's face wore a smile as bright as the second sun as she pointed to McGee's computer monitor and the large green words highlighted on the screen.

**_Access Granted_**

Abby wrapped her arms around the IT Specialist and placed a big smacking kiss on his cheek.

"No one out-geeks my geek!" she said proudly.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

As they walked back down the corridor toward the courtroom, Gibbs kept one steadying hand on Tony's elbow. They paused briefly outside the entrance and the younger man gently shrugged off the assistance and stood tall before walking unaided to the front of the courtroom and taking his seat in the witness box – he was desperately pale and a little shaky but not bad.

'_Go get 'em, Tony' _Gibbs urged silently as he took a seat at the front of the gallery beside his father and Ducky.

Within a few moments, Judge Brayden returned to the bench and the hearing resumed.

"Mr Scott, you may proceed," the judge said.

Cameron Scott approached the witness box eyeing Tony like a leopard eyes an antelope.

"Special Agent DiNozzo," he said. "May I remind you that you are still under oath?"

"Oh, could you?" Tony asked with feigned innocence. "And speak _real _slowly, I'm sure I'll get it this time."

Scott lips curled maliciously.

"I don't think you fully appreciate the seriousness of this situation," he accused.

Anger flashed in Tony's eyes and was tamped down in the space of a heartbeat.

"Oh, believe me, counsellor, I do," he replied, his voice brittle and contained.

Judge Brayden tapped his gavel in warning, breaking their mutually disdainful eye contact.

"Mr Scott, please ask your next question."

Scott studied Tony with icy contempt for a long moment.

"Agent DiNozzo, tell me how the banking records came to be in the possession of NCIS?" he began.

"I copied a large file from Evan Grayson's computer. The banking records were in the file," Tony replied.

"Evan Grayson? Don't you mean Thomas Grayson?"

"No, the files were copied directly from Evan's laptop."

"And he just left it lying around with highly incriminating information?" Scott asked sceptically.

"No. He usually carried it with him. Took me six weeks to get near it."

"If he usually carried it with him, how did you get it?"

"Evan and I were in the warehouse office when he received an urgent call from his father," Tony explained. "Something had happened. Evan was rattled, agitated – he left the office and went outside to get better cell reception."

"So, he left the laptop in the office…then what happened?"

"I downloaded the file to a memory stick."

"I see…this memory stick was later destroyed, correct?"

"Yes, Evan searched me, found it in my pocket and destroyed it."

"If the memory stick was destroyed, how did NCIS obtain the file?" Scott continued.

"I emailed a copy of the file to my NCIS email account."

"To _your_ NCIS email account." Scott repeated. "Tell me Agent DiNozzo, why did you email this information to your own account and not to Agent Gibbs or one of your team members?"

"I heard Evan coming back to the office; I didn't want to get caught," Tony replied. "It happened fast; my email account was the first to come to mind."

"The first account that came to your mind," Scott repeated dubiously. "Interesting… What happened next?"

"About thirty minutes before the shipment was due to arrive, Evan and I left the office to check that everything was ready. Chief Petty Officer Louis Farrell was there. He recognised me…blew my cover."

"Go on."

"Evan spoke to his father who told him to kill us," Tony replied.

"The defendant was at the warehouse?"

"No. Evan called his father on his cell."

"You spoke to the defendant?"

"No," Tony said grimacing as his thigh muscles constricted painfully.

"Evan had the call on speaker?"

"No."

"Then how do you know that he was speaking to the defendant?" Scott asked.

"I…"

"You don't know, do you, Agent DiNozzo?" Scott continued. "You have no way of knowing who was on the phone that day! Your Honour?"

"Special Agent DiNozzo, you will answer the question," Judge Brayden instructed.

After a moment of thunderous silence, Tony took a deep breath before reluctantly replying.

"No, I don't know who was on the phone."

Scott did little to suppress the twitching smile, knowing he had won that point.

"Moving on," he continued"smugly, "in your statement you said that Thomas Grayson ordered his son Evan to kill you and Petty Officer Farrell, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Putting aside the fact that we have now established that you really had no idea who was on the phone, I'm wondering why Petty Officer Farrell was killed yet here you are, very much alive?"

"If you mean _very much alive_ in comparison to Petty Officer Farrell who's…well… very much dead… then, well played, counsellor, I concede that point."

"Your Honour," Scott whined.

"Agent DiNozzo," the judge warned.

Tony sighed loudly.

"When Evan learned I was a federal agent, he thought I'd betrayed and humiliated him," Tony winced at the memory. "He said that he was going to make me suffer; kill me slowly."

"And, of course, Evan Grayson is dead and cannot corroborate your story," Scott stated. "I say again…that's very convenient."

With a defiant lift of his chin Tony met the attorney's challenging glare.

"And _I_ say again – not for him!" Tony ground out between tightly clenched teeth.

Gibbs' senior field agent was generally slow to anger and although he gave the impression of casual apathy and nonchalance, the former Marine knew without doubt that behind those green eyes was a keen intelligence just waiting to be underestimated. But there was something about the way Tony unveiled that inner core of steel that always made Gibbs want to stand and applaud. DiNozzo was fighting back and Gibbs was thrilled to see it.

Once again, Scott's lips curled back in more of a snarl than a smile and he glowered contemptuously at Tony.

"I put it to you, Agent DiNozzo that the reason Petty Officer Farrell was killed was not because he _did_ identify you as a federal agent but because he _could_. Furthermore, I believe it was not Evan Grayson but _you_ who killed Petty Officer Farrell to keep your cover intact."

Tony choked out a little laugh that owed nothing to humour.

"Wowsers! Kinda going out on a limb there, aren't ya, Cam?" he quipped.

"Objection, Your Honour," Pete said. "There's no evidence to suggest that Agent DiNozzo-"

Cameron Scott barrelled on, cutting off the prosecutor's objection mid-flow.

"I believe that after you killed Petty Officer Farrell, you and Billy Matthews stole a sample of the drugs for yourselves."

"No!" Tony snapped as his heartbeat quickened.

"You had yourselves one hell of a party. Developed a liking for it," Scott accused loudly, "but you went too far and you got yourself hooked."

"S'not true," Tony argued, ruthlessly suppressing the memory that crawled like a snake in the pit of his stomach.

"The heroin, PCP and scopolamine were stronger than the prescription meds you usually take to get high and you overdosed. Not too hard to imagine considering your history of failed drug-tests and Billy Matthews' addiction."

Tony's heart pounded so loud he could barely hear his own voice.

" I…I-"

He felt his stomach spasm painfully, robbing him of breath as an incipient panic clawed at his chest. He was vaguely aware of Commander Barnes' loud objections and the ear-splitting sound of Judge Brayden pounding his gavel to restore order but his attention was still on the unrelenting Cameron Scott.

"You killed Farrell, you stole the drugs and you got yourself hooked, then you had Billy Matthews tie you up so that when your team found you, you could blame Evan Grayson. Isn't that how it happened, Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony's heart pounded against his sternum and he pressed the heel of both hands into his eyes in a bid to stop the throbbing pain in his head.

"Answer the question, Agent DiNozzo!" Cameron Scott persisted circling like a shark before the kill.

In the gallery, Jackson and Gibbs exchanged concerned glances. The former gunny placed his hand on his fathers forearm to keep Jackson in his seat.

"_Agent DiNozzo!" _Scott insisted.

The pounding of the gavel exacerbated the throbbing in Tony's ears, drowning out the cacophony of raised voices around him and he screwed his eyes tightly shut as his vision swam in and out of focus. Suddenly it was quiet and he felt hands upon him and whispers echoing all around him. He threw his hands up defensively only to have them pinned firmly by his sides.

"Back with us, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, his words did not convey the concern but Tony saw it in the older man's eyes.

"Back?" he mumbled, swiping his dry tongue over parched lips.

"You phased out on us for a moment," Ducky said, passing him a bottle of apple juice with one hand and taking Tony's pulse with the other. "Small sips, my boy."

Tony took a drink and a soft sigh of relief escaped his parched throat. Looking beyond the concerned faces of his friends he noticed the judge and the attorneys were nowhere to be seen.

"What happened?"

"That Cameron Scott fella got a little too big for his britches," Jackson said casting an irritated glance at the closed door to the judge's chambers.

"Judge Brayden called Commander Barnes and Cameron Scott into his chambers," Palmer added. "He looked really mad."

The door to the judge's chamber was flung open and the expression on Commander Barnes' face was as sombre as any of them had ever seen. He walked to witness box, assessing Tony quickly before addressing the others.

"Any word from McGee?" he asked hopefully.

The look on the faces told him everything he needed to know.

"I tried again for a postponement," he said. "Judge Brayden wants this hearing over today."

"At what cost?" Ducky asked sharply. "Surely Anthony's health should be the primary concern here."

"I'm sorry," Pete said moving closer and keeping his voice low. "Look, I've been thinking…Judge Brayden threatened Scott and I with contempt if there's another disruption."

"No!" Tony said anticipating his friend's train of thought.

"Just hear me out…if I'm held in contempt then the hearing will be postponed until JAG assigns another prosecutor."

"And what happens then?" Tony asked. "If you get held in contempt you could lose your Navy commission."

"But it would buy you the time McGee needs to-"

"No! We stay the course," Tony said pressing one tight fist against the headache throbbing behind his forehead. "Besides, even if I'm charged, Probie will crack that code and the boss will have me home in time for dinner."

The bailiff appeared beside them and asked for them to take their seats for the resumption of court. As the others took their places Gibbs remained, eyeing his agent with concern. All trace of glibness abruptly disappeared and Tony's expression was sombre.

"That's it, then," Tony said. "It's over."

"This is _not_ over," Gibbs said, looking intently at his agent and seeing the doubt chasing reason. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could hope for. He squeezed the younger man's shoulder lightly and returned to his seat in the gallery.

Judge Brayden entered the court and took his seat at the bench. He stared pointedly at both attorneys, silently reiterating the dressing down they both received in his chambers moments ago. Then courtroom fell into silence as the judge asked the court reporter to read back the last few moments of the hearing.

_Mr Scott: "I believe that after you killed Petty Officer Farrell, you and Billy Matthews stole a sample of the drugs for yourselves."_

_Agent DiNozzo: "No!" _

_Mr Scott: "You had yourselves one hell of a party. Developed a liking for it but you went too far and you got yourself hooked."_

_Agent DiNozzo: "That's not true." _

_Mr Scott: "The heroin, PCP and scopolamine were stronger than the prescription meds you usually take to get high and you overdosed. Not too hard to imagine considering your history of failed drug-tests and Billy Matthews' addiction."_

"Scopolamine," Tony said aloud.

The court reporter paused and looked up from her stenotype machine.

"You wish to add something, Special Agent DiNozzo?" the judge asked irritably.

Tony raised a trembling hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. His face drained of any remaining colour as he stared wide-eyed into space.

"He gave me scopolamine," Tony uttered quietly.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony squeezed his eyes shut trying to conjure the memory.

"Evan," he recalled, trying to keep his voice steady. "He gave me scopolamine to make me hallucinate...to make me suffer."

"Your Honour," Scott snarled. "We've already heard Agent DiNozzo's wildly imaginative account of what happened."

Despite the threat of contempt and Tony's protest, Pete Barnes started to rise when Gibbs' hand on his shoulder halted his progress. He turned to face the former Marine who gave a quick shake of his head while never taking his eyes from his agent. Gibbs had seen the almost imperceptive change in Tony's expression and his heart-rate quickened as he watched Tony take a quick drink, straighten his shoulders and turn to face the defence attorney.

"Kinda interesting how you mentioned scopolamine just now, especially as it's not exactly the drug of choice in these parts," he shrugged casually. "Evan had a small sample of scopolamine from a new South American supplier and…lucky me, he was looking for a guinea pig to try out the merchandise."

"Your Honour, none of this was in DiNozzo's statement," Scott stated. "The witness is obviously wasting the court's time."

"I believe that's for me to decide, Mr Scott," the judge said. "Go ahead, Agent DiNozzo."

The smile that was beamed in Scott's direction fell well short of Tony's signature mega-watt grin but it was a valiant attempt.

"When I was in South America recently, doing threat assessments for the Navy, we had a briefing about the dangers of scopolamine. Really scary stuff," he said with a dramatic shudder. "This might interest you, Cam – I can call you Cam, right? Scopolamine is not easily detected in urine and blood tests unless you specifically test for it. In fact, I'll bet you a month's pay that there's no mention of scopolamine in any of my tests or in the drug analysis report from the warehouse drug bust. Which makes the fact that you mentioned it quite a lucky guess. Don't you think so, Your Honour?"

"Yes," the judge said nodding his head slowly. "Yes, a very interesting choice indeed."

Scott paled noticeably and his eyes flicked quickly in Grayson's direction as he reached for the large file on his desk. Quickly leafing through the drug analysis report, he found no mention of scopolamine.

"Personally, if I were you, Cam, I'd stick with the lucky guess answer," Tony suggested amiably. "Because the only other way you could know about the scopolamine is if Evan or old Tom over there, told you that Evan had forced a highly potent hallucinogen on a federal agent and I think you'll find that's against the law."

"This is outrageous, Your Honour," Scott protested. "DiNozzo is attempting to divert attention from the fact that he has a drug problem and quite possibly murdered a US Navy petty officer."

"Re-eally?" Tony continued. "There's one way to find out. Re-test the samples for scopolamine. If they come back clear, it was a lucky guess; if they come back positive, we have reason to suspect that you are an accessory after the fact to the attempted murder of a federal agent."

"So ordered," Judge Brayden said. "Bailiff, please ensure the samples are retested and the results sent to me directly."

"Your Honour," Scott laughed incredulously. "This is preposterous. It was a lucky guess."

Tony looked behind the blustering attorney as his teammates quietly entered the courtroom. His expression hardened into an angry mask that his colleagues in the gallery barely recognised.

"Then you better hope your luck holds, man, because the cavalry has just arrived and if you're lying, you'll be sharing a cell with old Tom and fighting over the top bunk."

Tony's voice was soft but the threat was implicit. The gentle tone made his message all the more chilling.

Judge Brayden tapped his gavel gently.

"Commander Barnes," he said. "Do you have any questions for this witness?"

Pete wore an ear-to-ear grin as he as he looked at his friend in admiration and shrugged.

"No questions, Your Honour, Special Agent DiNozzo has done my job for me," Pete said. "However, the prosecution requests a ten minute recess to discuss new evidence that I believe will determine the outcome of this hearing."

"Very well," the judge said. "Agent DiNozzo, you may step down. This hearing will adjourn for ten minutes."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The hearing resumed with Commander Barnes recalling McGee to the stand. With the high anonymity proxy server now decrypted and the IP information accessed, the proof that Thomas Grayson transferred funds to various drug cartels and customs officials using his personal laptop, was admitted as evidence. This proved he not only knew of his son's drug dealing but he was heavily involved in it.

Safely ensconced between Gibbs and Jackson, Tony watched from the gallery; the effort of holding himself together on the stand had left him trembling with fatigue and he looked like he could drop at any moment.

Director Vance was recalled to the stand and confirmed the former identity of William Arthur Stockton as Jonathon Bailey, business partner of Thomas Grayson, who was relocated to Spain as part of the CIA witness relocation program. Irrefutable forensic tests were admitted as evidence that Bailey, now Stockton, was involved in the murder of three US citizens, two US federal agents and the attempted murder of Tony and Jackson.

"Your Honour," Cameron Scott pleaded desperately. "While it's true that Jonathon Bailey is the former business partner of my client, any accusation of Thomas Grayson's involvement in these murders is tenuous at best. The majority of these murders occurred while my client was incarcerated in a federal prison and had no contact whatsoever with his former partner. The prosecution has no evidence linking Mr Grayson with these heinous crimes."

"I would not be so sure about that," Mossad Liaison Officer, Ziva David said from the back of the courtroom.

Commander Barnes was granted another moment to speak with Ziva before presenting the court with CCTV footage of two Tracfones being purchased at a Radio Shack store in Georgetown. One of the cells was found in the possession of Jonathon Bailey while the other was never located. Cameron Scott buried his face in his hands as he watched footage of his own unmistakable image completing the purchase.

Judge Brayden ordered the court security officers to take Cameron Scott into custody and determined that there was sufficient evidence that the defendant and Mr Scott were involved in a conspiracy to commit multiple murders. They were bound over for an arraignment in a week's time when a trial date would be set. Then, with a final tap of his gavel, the hearing was over.

As the CSO's led Scott from the courtroom, Gibbs leaned in toward the man.

"Looks like your luck ran out, you sonofabitch," he said menacingly.

The next few moments were a blur as Tony received the hugs and handshakes from his teammates and friends who were already planning a celebratory dinner. When the courtroom finally cleared Tony leaned heavily against the back of the chair, the fight drained out of him, replaced by a rising tide of exhaustion and despair.

"It's over, Tony," Gibbs said quietly.

The former Marine felt his heart constrict as his agent turned desperate eyes to his, begging mutely for help.

"No, Boss, it's not."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N:- One more chapter and we'll put this puppy to bed. Hope you'll join me for the final chapter of Night Time, L**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is ****unintentional**

A/N:- Final chapter is a super long one, folks, even by my standards! Warning - there's a fair bit of angst for Tony but I didn't want to make light of the subject matter by offering a "miracle cure" ending. Heartfelt gratitude to all who read this story, with a special thank you to those of you who took an extra moment to leave a review, L

**NIGHT TIME**

**Chapter Eleven**

_"It's over, Tony," Gibbs said quietly._

_The former Marine felt his heart constrict as his agent turned desperate eyes to his, begging mutely for help._

_"No, Boss, it's not."_

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Intense blue eyes silently urged him on and Tony quietly cleared his voice of emotion.

"Boss, I-"

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed excitedly from the doorway.

The pounding of her platform boots reverberated in the large courtroom as she zeroed in on her target. Silently cursing the interruption, Gibbs stepped hastily between them, knowing his agent currently lacked the strength to absorb the impact from the Gothic Express. Abby skidded to a halt inches from Gibbs, her arms windmilling as she tried to keep her balance.

"Gibbs!" she scolded indignantly.

"Easy, Abs," he reminded her. "Broken ribs."

Abby's eyes widened and her fingers flew to her mouth as she realised the close call. Side-stepping Gibbs, she drew Tony into a gentle hug, one that he returned with a long shuddering sigh.

"Abs, can you give us a minute?" Gibbs asked.

Reluctantly pulling away from Tony, Abby's expression turned to alarm and her head swivelled from one man to the other as she noted their grim expressions.

"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously. "Something's wrong; tell me!"

Tony forced a fragile smile.

"Nothing's wrong, we're fine," he said, flicking his eyes to the lead agent. "Right, Boss?"

Gibbs swallowed the bitterness of another lost opportunity and reluctantly nodded in agreement. Accepting the reassurance, Abby brightened instantly.

"In that case, Mister," she said latching on to Tony's arm. "You, _Very Special_ Agent DiNozzo, will be _very special_ guest of honour at tonight's celebration dinner."

"Far be it from me to be the pooper of your party plans, my dear," Ducky said walking quietly toward them. "But I believe those celebrations may have to wait. At least until Anthony has had a good night's rest, hmm?"

Tony's lack of protest and the light sheen of sweat on his brow confirmed Ducky's diagnosis. The physical and emotional exertion of the day had taken its toll and he was exhausted.

Gibbs pulled Abby into a one armed hug.

"Ducky's right, Abs. Make it lunch tomorrow at my house," he suggested to his scientist.

"Really?" she asked.

"Barbecue," he replied, "just the team."

"And Commander Barnes," Abby added. "Because he was, like, totally awesome."

"Just the team," Gibbs stressed.

"Right and Agent Fornell, he helped a lot, Gibbs, even on his days off."

"Abs…quiet lunch, just the team."

Abby huffed her disappointment.

"Just the team. Right, Gibbs."

"You up to that, DiNozzo?" the lead agent asked.

"Sure, Boss," Tony said with a weary smile.

As they walked toward the exit of the courthouse Gibbs watched his agent with guarded concern, knowing the younger man was holding on by his fingertips and hoping like hell he could get him to open up before he shattered into a thousand pieces.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The drive home from the courthouse was mostly done in silence. Jackson's attempts to start conversation had fallen flat and the tension in the car was palpable. By the time they arrived at the former Marine's home, Tony's body was humming with fatigue. Gibbs steered him into the guestroom, relieved by Tony's compliance yet concerned for the same reason. He pulled an old USMC t-shirt and a pair of sweats from a dresser drawer and placed them on the foot of the bed. Looking back from the door, he frowned as he watched Tony moving like an arthritic old man.

"Tony," he said waiting until his agent met his gaze. "Good job today."

The words straightened Tony's shoulders like nothing else could have and a tired smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs closed the door behind him before joining Jackson in the kitchen where the older man was using the microwave.

"Soup's nearly ready," Jackson said after a long moment. "Mind telling me what's going on with you two? And don't tell me nothing, Leroy, I've seen happier faces at a funeral."

"You know what I know," Gibbs shrugged.

"In other words, Tony's not talking."

Silence was the only reply and Jackson huffed softly at the irony of the situation. He removed the warmed soup and poured it into a large mug.

"He's a strong man, Leroy, but he's been through hell," Jack said. "You of people should know that you can't force anyone to talk if they're not ready. All you can do is tread softly and be there when he needs you."

Gibbs started to nod and then frowned at his father's words.

"Don't recall you ever treading softly," he said without rancour.

"Well, I reckon I've had plenty of years to think about it," Jackson countered. "Besides, I was raising a boy to be a man – seems like I didn't do such a bad job."

Gibbs saw the pride reflected in his father's watery blue eyes and he swallowed hard to force the lump out of his throat. It was Jackson who spoke again.

"You best get moving. Soup's getting cold," he said.

Nodding, Gibbs moved to the kitchen doorway and looked back at his father.

"Take my room tonight, Dad."

"What about you?"

"I'll take the couch," Gibbs said with a shrug. "In case Tony need's something."

As Jackson watched his son walk back toward the guestroom he whispered quietly.

"Nope…not such a bad job, at all."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs returned to the guestroom to find that exhaustion had triumphed over Tony's stubborn determination to stay awake. His broken sleep over the past month meant that he was constantly tired, yet he continually tried to fight sleep knowing that the nightmares laid in wait. He was sprawled across the bed, completely spent and so deeply asleep the former Marine couldn't bring himself to wake him.

Gibbs placed the soup on the bedside table and stood over the younger man, noting the changes the past few weeks of hell had wrought in him. He knew, better than anyone, the emotional scars that had been left unhealed and buried behind a wall of humour and nonchalance. But the small white stress lines around his mouth told Gibbs that, even in sleep, this man was holding on too tightly.

From the time he was a young child, Tony's method of dealing with pain was simple - bury it, ignore it, deny it. While he had mastered the technique better than most, this time it wasn't working. This time it was eating him alive and with a painful twist of his intuitive gut Gibbs realised that, for the first time in eight years, he couldn't guess the path of the younger man's thoughts.

Suffering was a personal thing and there was no way to truly gauge the level of someone else's pain. Hard as it was, Gibbs just had to wait and hope like hell that his agent would reach out to him again.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Sleep may have come instantly but inevitably the nightmares arrived and, like a samurai's sword, mercilessly sliced his soul to ribbons. The whispers echoed all around and hands furtively touched him. He was caught up in a barbed-wire tangle of memories; too tired to hold back the horrors that had been circling like vultures.

_Images forced themselves to the forefront of his mind - men pinning him to the floor and laughing as they injected heroin into his veins. They churned around and around, a noxious mixture of anger, fear and shame. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight. A claustrophobic scream expanded in his chest and sweat broke out on his forehead and trickled coldly down his back. Fight it, DiNozzo! He heard his boss' voice in the far recesses of his mind, steadfast and uncompromising as his order floated like a tiny raft in the maelstrom. _

_The substance was overpowering him; the warm wave of anaesthesia swept through his veins, washing over his face, down his neck to his chest before crashing into a warm, golden explosion in his stomach and groin. A blessed sensation beyond the peak of orgasm brought relief from pain and nausea as every muscle in his body relaxed and his head lolled gently to his shoulder. Unburdened of the crushing weight of pain, blackness encroached on the edges of Tony's vision, a cool darkness beckoned to him and he surrendered willingly to it._

_In an instant the images and sensations transformed as an unseen demon rose from the blackness. Venomous thoughts and insidious whispers of hopelessness and failure were planted into his mind, corroding his soul and self-worth. He shivered uncontrollably, lost in the throes of urgency for the substance his blood now craved. Burning sensations skittered along every nerve ending, wringing a cry of pain from his lips as an inferno of pain blasted through his mind like a blowtorch. Relentless nausea, muscle spasms and fever assailed him until he was spiralling down into the ravenous vortex of need and the gnawing hunger for heroin that could not be ignored and would never be satisfied._

The memories crashed in on him and he surged upward from the bed in a swirling cloud of fear and panic. His breath exploded from his damaged chest in an audible rush and he stumbled blindly for the door. He reached the back landing where slow gasps of cool air gave space for reason to return.

No longer able to support his weight, his knees buckled and he fell heavily into a chair. Leaning forward he cradled his aching head in his hands. Swallowing the knotted misery in his throat, his breath caught in a sob. He clamped his lips to deny it life but there was no denying the cause. Cold dread coiled in his stomach as he realised that this was an enemy he couldn't fight alone...he needed help.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Heavy footsteps and the sound of the back door slamming startled Jackson from his sleep in the upstairs bedroom. Throwing on his bathrobe and wincing at the protest of sleep-tightened muscles, he made his way carefully down the stairs and saw his son staring out of the kitchen window.

"What the heck happened?" Jackson asked around a jaw-breaking yawn.

Gibbs pointed with his chin to where his agent sat slumped in a chair on the back landing, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs while the other ran trembling fingers through spiky bed-hair.

Jack sighed loudly.

"This has gotta stop, son," he said. "That young fella's in all kinds of pain."

"I'm on it," Gibbs replied, filling two mugs with coffee from the pot and turning for the door.

Taking a seat beside his agent, Gibbs gave him a gentle nudge with his shoulder and handed him a mug. He watched as Tony wrapped his long fingers around it and nodded his thanks. The younger man's skin was wet and clammy, his t-shirt nearly soaked and he was breathing in short, loud gasps.

"Talk to me," Gibbs' quiet voice touched him.

"Nothin' to say," Tony replied flatly.

"Tony," Gibbs persisted gently. _"Please."_

That one word, rarely uttered by his boss, had Tony trying desperately to marshal the emotions churning inside him. A cowardly voice at the back of his mind told him to run but he ignored it. He was _so_ close that he could almost taste the freedom that would come from speaking the words to someone else. To unburden him of the mind numbing fear and shame he had struggled to suppress these last weeks.

Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder, the heat and the weight of it reassuring him and silently urging him on. Finally, he turned desolate eyes to the former Marine and his voice choked with humiliation as the truth leaked out, quietly and shamefully.

"I'm in trouble, Boss."

There was no need for further explanation as the words sent Gibbs' stomach into a free-fall. Anger flared white-hot in his mind and the urge to take Grayson apart with his bare hands burned brightly. It faded instantly, extinguished by the look of self-loathing on the younger man's face.

"Thought I could do this alone," Tony huffed a humourless laugh and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Didn't wanna let you down."

Gibbs moved his hand to the younger man's nape.

"You have _never_ let me down," he said hoarsely.

Tony turned his face away when he felt his control slipping. Desperately, he tried to shore up long-constructed emotional shields that were threatening to crumble at any minute. He dropped his gaze to the floor and offered the only thing left.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

Taking a long pull of his coffee to cover his own emotions, Gibbs cleared his throat with a quiet cough.

"Tony…listen to me. This…is _not_ your fault."

Tony raised his head and met his boss' gaze; his pupils were dilated to black disks almost eclipsing the green iris. There was no disgust or pity in Gibbs' eyes, no betrayal or judgement, only a deep concern and acceptance that was almost Tony's undoing. Uneasy with so much overt emotion, Tony carded shaking fingers through his hair and attempted to gather the tattered remains of his self-control.

"We'll fix this," Gibbs promised. "Get you some help."

Tony nodded but the thought clenched a knot in his chest so tight that he could barely breathe and his head dropped suddenly, as if the burden of shame had made it too heavy to hold up.

"What if I can't do this?" The younger man's voice caught and dwindled to a raw whisper as an invisible blade pierced Gibbs' heart.

"You will," he replied definitively, giving his agent's nape a gentle squeeze. _"We_ will."

From Gibbs, that reply was as good as a three-minute speech followed by a hug and Tony gave him a faint wintry smile – the best he could manage under the circumstances.

"I'll lose my job," Tony stated.

"Not gonna happen," Gibbs assured him, silently adding a resolute challenge, _'just let 'em try.'_

Soft footsteps sounded behind them and a warm blanket was draped around Tony's shoulders.

"The doc's on his way," Jack said, giving Tony's shoulder a supportive pat before going back inside to wait for Ducky.

The two men waited in silence, allowing the peace of the early morning to soothe them. The sun was not yet up, but the sky was lightening. The thin, high clouds in the east were lit with brilliant colour, but in the west, stars were still visible.

Finally, the sound of Ducky's Morgan was heard at the front of the house and the elderly ME arrived toting his medical bag. Tony dropped his eyes to the ground and was uncharacteristically quiet as Gibbs brought Ducky up-to-date with the situation. Ducky's eyes were full of compassion for his young friend.

"There are many excellent drug and alcohol rehabilitation clinics," he told them.

A flicker of alarm lit Tony's eyes and was swiftly extinguished like a spark falling into water.

"In fact, an old school chum of mine is the head physician at an excellent facility in Hartford, Connecticut."

"Connecticut? That's a little far from home isn't it, Doc?" Jackson asked.

"Further's better," Gibbs said. "Less chance of him running into anyone he knows."

"Why don't we discuss that in the morning," Ducky suggested. "In the meantime, my boy, let's take a look at you."

Giving Tony a quick examination, Ducky scowled at the blood pressure reading and scoffed at Tony's insistence that he was feeling much better. His words were mocked by his rough gasps for air; harsh tremors and his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his brow.

"On my way here, I took the liberty of consulting with Captain Taylor who, you may recall, treated Anthony when he was admitted to Bethesda," Ducky said. "He suggested I administer a mild sedative."

"No," Tony said firmly. "No sedatives."

"Anthony," Ducky said gently. "Your heart and pulse are racing; your blood pressure is sky-high. Your body needs to rest."

Tony's eyes flicked to Gibbs who agreed with a barely perceptible nod, then, with a loud sigh of resignation, the younger man complied without further protest. As the ME prepared the syringe and injected the contents, Gibbs watched his agent screw his eyes shut and turn his face away.

"There now, that should do the trick," Ducky said. "Let's get you back to bed, young man, before we have to carry you, hmm?"

Gibbs helped Tony to his feet, keeping hold of his elbow to steady him as they walked to the door of the guestroom. Physically and emotionally spent, the younger man practically fell into bed. He blinked several times before his eyes stayed closed and his thick eyelashes formed a dark fringe against his pale cheeks.

Closing the door gently behind him, Gibbs joined Ducky and Jackson in the living room.

"What time frame are we looking at, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

"It goes without saying that this is not my area of expertise, however, Anthony being amenable to undergoing treatment is a very good start indeed," Ducky said. "I should think the sooner we can place him at a treatment facility, the better."

"The clinic at Hartford…it's good?"

"Oh my word, Hartford is one of the country's leading dependency treatment facilities."

"Think you can get him in, Duck?"

"I assure you, Jethro," Ducky said with a sad smile. "I will do my very best."

"You gotta team lunch tomorrow, son?" Jack said. "You reckon he's up to that?"

Gibbs eyes drifted to the closed door of the guestroom.

"What do ya think, Duck?"

"I think, after all he's been through, our young man might appreciate the company of good friends, don't you?"

While Ducky and Jackson chatted quietly, Gibbs opened the guestroom door and leaned heavily on the door frame. He was relieved to see the drug-induced sleep had eased the tension from his agent's face. He felt a tightening in his chest as he imagined how difficult it had been for Tony to admit he was in trouble. But of one thing he was certain…Tony needed his help and nothing or nobody would stop him from giving it.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

A check of the guestroom several hours later revealed that Tony was still sleeping. One arm was tossed over his head while the other curled across his ribs protectively. Resisting the impulse to check for fever, Gibbs closed the door and continued on to the kitchen where the light conversation and laughter of his team filtered in from the back landing. Abby appeared at the doorway chewing anxiously on her bottom lip.

"Gibbs?"

"Still sleeping," the lead agent replied in anticipation of her question.

"Is he okay? I mean…should I get Ducky?"

"He's fine, Abs."

Abby placed her hands on her hips and huffed in exasperation.

"That would be a lot easier to believe, Bossman, if you stopped checking on him, like, every five minutes," she said knowingly.

"It's hot. I was getting the drinks," he countered.

"And the chips and the barbecue tongs and the salad and the meat…" Abby added with a cheeky grin. "You came back empty-handed every time. Admit it Gibbs, you were totally checking on Tony."

Opening the fridge he handed the grinning scientist a large bowl of salad and a container of marinated meat and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"Go!" he said with a small quirk of his lips. "People are hungry."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony woke slowly, drifting up from a deep and restful drug-induced sleep into a leaden body that felt as though it hadn't moved for days. He screwed his eyes shut against the bright sunlight that sliced through the curtains. From the dull ache behind his eyes, he knew his persistent headache was waiting to ambush him at his first ill-considered movement. His bladder demanded immediate attention and, bracing a hand against his damaged ribcage, he gritted his teeth and set about getting to his feet. Tentatively walking to the adjoining bathroom, he took care of business and splashed some cold water on his face to chase the murkiness from his brain.

Tony figured he knew the drill; he knew how to get his head back together after an undercover assignment. You just kept moving; putting one foot in front of another, taking one case after another until you started to recognise yourself in the mirror again. But this time things were different – he was different. He was trying to put the pieces back together but no matter how he turned them they just didn't fit anymore.

A sickening rush of fear surged through him as he felt the darkness return, coiling tightly around his soul. Panic pulled at the edges of his mind and he ruthlessly suppressed it, taking some deep breaths and fumbling with the lid of his meds. He placed two pills under his tongue and sat on the closed toilet until he felt the tablets begin to take effect.

When the roaring in his ears subsided, he heard his teammates and friends in the yard and concentrated on their voices to keep him focussed. Gibbs, Abby, McGee, Ziva, hell even Jackson, Ducky and Palmer had seen him at his worst and a wave of shame washed up with that realisation. He hated how exposed that made him feel and how much harder it would be to face them.

A soft knock at the door nearly sent him into orbit.

"DiNozzo? You okay?"

"Fine, Boss, …just…ah, taking a shower."

"Chows on in five," Gibbs said through the door. "And Tony?"

"Boss?"

"Works better when the water's running."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

With his hair towel-dried into spikes and wearing the clean sweats and t-shirt that had, again, appeared at the foot of his bed, Tony made his way to the back landing. Gibbs was manning the grill while the others sat at the large table, filling their plates with an array of fresh salads and barbecued meat. It was a sure bet that he was the topic of the hushed conversation that halted abruptly as Palmer spotted Tony in the doorway.

"Hey, look who's up!" the young ME assistant said a little too cheerily.

Abby sprung to her feet, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. The intensity of her grip left him in no doubt that they all knew.

"Forgive me, dear boy," Ducky said. "I hoped we could offer you greater support if your friends all knew of your…predicament."

Tony's eyes closed and his face burned with shame.

"We love you, Tony," Abby whispered. "This isn't your fault."

"We are all here for you, Tony," Ziva said gently.

"Whatever you need, man," McGee added from the other side of the table.

Tony's internal struggle was plain to see as it played across his face and penetrated his usual mask of emotional detachment. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he abruptly snapped out of his thoughts and plastered on a smile that was all too bright.

"Abs," Tony rasped, "can't breathe."

Relaxing her grip, Abby tugged Tony by the arm to a nearby seat at the table and the casual conversations and light-hearted banter resumed as they enjoyed their meals and the all too rare casual get-together.

With lunch over and Tony's energy levels fading, the group adjourned to the living room for cake and coffee. Gibbs' sharp eyes watched his agent from the other side of the room. The jokes and smiles kept coming - reinforcing the mask of the extrovert yet hiding the face and feelings of the man. Closing his eyes he pushed aside his anxiety and tried to focus on the positive. Tony was home; his team was whole again and he would do whatever he could to ensure it stayed that way.

"Don't wanna seem ungrateful here, Probie," Tony said from the couch, "but you cut it a little fine with that winning basket, don't you think?"

"Er…not really sure what you mean?" McGee replied, not quite grasping the metaphor.

"I'm saying, McJumpshot, that I like the thrill of a three-point buzzer-beater as much as the next guy. But while you were counting down the clock, I was being fitted for orange coveralls."

"Tony!" Abby scolded lightly. "McGee worked night and day to crack the encryption on that account!"

"I don't think you understand what a highly intricate security program that was, Tony," McGee explained with a mixture of indignation and guilt. "I decrypted it as fast as I could and…and… besides… Ziva arrived later than I did!"

"Hey!" the Israeli protested. "You had weeks to crack that code. While I, on the other hand, had only a short time to collect a subpoena, view the CCTV footage and drive across town in peak hour traffic like some crazy woman to get it to the hearing!"

"You always drive like a crazy woman," McGee argued.

"That's true, Ziva," Abby said. "Road safety _so_ isn't your strong suit."

"This from a woman who used to drive a hearse," Ziva scoffed.

The three voices competed for dominance as Abby, Ziva and McGee continued to squabble and bicker. Tony leaned back on the couch and lifted his feet onto the coffee table with a contented sigh. Looking on in amusement, Gibbs bit back a grin and leaned forward to speak into his senior agent's ear.

"Having fun, DiNozzo," he drawled.

"Time of my life, Boss," Tony replied, closing his eyes and clasping his hands behind his head as a Cheshire Cat smile formed on his pale face.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

It was another hour before the team left and the house fell into relative silence. Ducky took a call on the back landing while Jackson helped Gibbs tidy the kitchen.

"Lunch was a good idea, Leroy," Jackson told his son. "They needed this time with Tony…I reckon he needed it, too."

Gibbs nodded silently in acknowledgement.

"What about you, son? How are you holding up?"

"Ask me when it's over, Dad," Gibbs said wearily.

"Well now, you can count on that," Jack replied firmly.

Tony was dozing restlessly on the couch and clasped his hands tightly together to resist pressing his fists against his throbbing temples. He thought about his teammates, overwhelmingly grateful that these people had come into his life. He felt their support and concern like warm flames on a cold winter's night. His thoughts drifted to Gibbs and he marvelled at the discordance of hard-ass Marine and caring friend and mentor. Beneath the head slaps and abrasive comments there was a father's compassion and loyalty that ran through the man like a vein of gold.

Panic gripped his chest and squeezed tightly – what if he let him down? What if he couldn't make it back? He concentrated on slowing his breathing until the panic subsided and reason returned. As long as his boss and his team had his back - he had a fighting chance.

He felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder and opened fatigue-bruised eyes to see Ducky entering the living room after completing his call. Wincing at the tweak from his ribcage, Tony sat up and waited until the others were seated.

"Duck?" Gibbs said. "That your friend from the clinic?"

"Indeed it was, Jethro," Ducky replied. "My old friend, Maurice Hollingsworth is now the head physician at the Hartford Valley Detox and Wellness Centre. It's an excellent facility with a first-class support program. In fact, Maurice and I were just saying-"

"Can you get him in, Duck?"

The lead agent's heart sank when Ducky released a heartfelt sigh.

"They are willing to take Anthony, of course," Ducky replied. "But not just yet…"

"Why the heck not?" Jackson protested. "If this is about money, Doc, I'd gladly-"

"I wish it were that simple, Jackson," Ducky said. "The programs available at Hartford are more geared toward patients who are currently taking minimum daily doses of methadone or Subutex and need support and encouragement as they take the final steps in their recovery."

"And Tony's just starting," Jackson stated.

"Yes, I'm afraid that even if we carefully fast-tracked Anthony's step-down process, it would take several months before he reached that stage."

Gibbs exchanged a look with his agent and saw the distress in Tony's eyes.

"We need to do this now, Duck."

"Jethro please! You witnessed for yourself the brutal effects of Subutex withdrawals when Anthony skipped several doses. If the tapering is not carefully monitored the effects can be very serious indeed. You can't seriously expect Anthony to-"

The ME stopped mid-flow and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Duck?"

"I will need to make a few calls to verify," the ME said staring intently at Tony. "But there just might be another way."

"I'll do it," Tony said eagerly.

"Tony-"

"No, Boss, whatever it is, I'll do it. I want my life back…I _can't_ wait months."

He rubbed a hand across his brow, fingers pressing hard to ease the throbbing headache as his self-control hung by a gossamer thread. Ducky placed a warm hand on the younger man's forearm.

"Anthony, listen to me," he said gravely. "This other way…it is not without its risks."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The elevator deposited Gibbs to the fifth floor and he stepped out, walking directly to the nurses' station.

"Evening, Delores," he greeted the woman wearing pink scrubs and sitting behind the desk.

Nurse Manager, Delores Delahunty was nearing retirement age. Widowed and with no children, her job was her life and she ran the ICU like a well-oiled machine. She looked over the top of her glasses as the lead agent approached.

"I wondered when you'd show up," she said sternly.

"I left a message," he replied, "said I'd be late."

"And now you come in here, batting your eyes and expecting me to let you disturb my patient," she scolded.

Gibbs placed a Styrofoam cup on the counter.

"Caramel latte, skim milk, no sugar, just the way you like it," he said.

"Now how'd you know that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

The agent shrugged casually.

"I'm an investigator…s'what I do."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and tried not to drown in the pools of his deep blue eyes.

"Well okay, you can go in," she huffed. "But only because I told him you were coming and I don't want him disappointed."

"Understood," Gibbs said gratefully. "How's he doing?"

"Stubborn and uncooperative," Delores sighed. "He's had a rough day and his fever's peaked again. I was about to check on him as soon as I give Mr Dixon his meds."

Gibbs let out a long breath and carded his fingers through his hair.

"You start the movie yet?" he asked.

"We waited for you."

With a grateful nod of his head, Gibbs turned for Tony's room and Delores watched him appreciably from behind.

"Thanks for the latte, Gunny," she called and then dropped her voice to a whisper. "But, sugar, you had me at 'Evening, Delores.'"

Gibbs stopped outside the door and took a minute to gather himself. Taking a deep breath, he entered the small room, blinking to adjust to the muted lighting. He glanced quickly at his agent before taking up the remote and watching the mounted plasma come to life. The beginning credits rolled with John Wayne in The Alamo.

"Good choice," Gibbs said with a nod of approval and another sideways glance. "I know this is hard, Tony…but I thought we agreed. You wanna get through this, you gotta cooperate."

His agent's face was partially hidden in the shadows but it was his stillness and the silence that Gibbs found most disturbing. The former Marine moved to the side of the bed, wincing at the gut-wrenching sight of his agent on a respirator, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was too evenly measured to be natural. Gibbs watched helplessly as Tony was trapped in his own private purgatory. He placed a gentle hand on the crown of the younger man's head, cringing at the heat pouring from him and his mind drifted back to a conversation in his living room two days prior.

_With Tony in the early stages of his Subutex regime, his high daily dosage made him ineligible to enter the Hartford Valley Detox Centre. Ducky had suggested that resumption of the Ultra-Rapid Detox treatment might significantly reduce the step-down time from months to days._

_Desperate to find a way out of this nightmare, Tony had hastily agreed. Gibbs and Jackson had both argued that there were other facilities that would accept him straight away without him having to take such radical action but the younger man was adamant; he wanted his life back – sooner rather than later – and if Ducky said Hartford was the best, then that's where he wanted to go. _

_With a little extra prodding, Tony had reluctantly told Gibbs of his fear of being stood down from his job if word of his dependency got out._

"_I can't lose my job, Boss."_

_Gibbs pushed aside his own frustration and helplessness as he headed for the Navy yard. There wasn't much he could do to help Tony but he could make damn sure the agency stood by him._

"_Well?" he asked anxiously as the director replaced the handset._

"_He agreed," Vance said in his usual taciturn manner. "SecNav's still riding high on the favourable press NCIS has received since Grayson's arrest. He will ensure that DiNozzo's medical bills are paid and we'll delete any mention of dependency treatment from his file."_

_Gibbs nodded his satisfaction._

"_There's a condition," Vance said._

_"Always is."_

_"DiNozzo gets one shot at this and no second chances, if he relapses-"_

_"He won't."_

"_But if he does," Vance continued, "he'll be relieved of duty like anyone else."_

"_Understood," Gibbs replied turning on his heel and heading for the door._

"_Gibbs?" the director called as Gibbs opened the office door. "Do what you have to. Get him back."_

Gibbs' musings were interrupted as Delores entered the room carrying a bowl of water and several cold packs. Placing them on the rolling table, she checked Tony's vital signs and the readouts from the array of medical equipment and noted them on his chart.

"You're a stubborn man, Tony DiNozzo," she told the unconscious man. "What did I tell you about these fevers?"

"Doc still planning to extubate tomorrow?" Gibbs asked.

"According to his chart, Captain Taylor will extubate him in the morning about oh seven hundred."

"I'll be here," Gibbs nodded. "What happens next?"

"We'll reduce his Subutex to the lowest dosage he can safely handle, then monitor his condition for the rest of the day. All being well, you can take him home tomorrow afternoon. Dr Mallard said Tony's booked into Hartford Valley?"

"Sixty days."

"Hartford's a world-class facility," she said. "He'll be in very good hands."

She placed the tympanic thermometer in his ear and took his temperature.

"103, stubborn as a mule!" she tsked before noting the concern on the older man's face. "Fever is a normal part of detox process but we don't like to see it that high. I know it's hard to watch, Gunny, but the best part of URD is that Tony won't remember a thing."

Gibbs nodded grimly knowing for a fact that while Tony may never remember, _he _would never forget.

Quickly and efficiently Delores placed the cold packs on and under Tony's still form and reached for the washcloth in the bowl when her pager rang.

"Dang," she cursed quietly.

"Go," Gibbs told her. "I got this."

He reached for the cloth soaking in the basin and wrung out the excess water before passing it lightly over his agent's face and neck.

"You can do this, Tony," he said quietly. "Lotta good people have got your six."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

They drove from Hartford airport in watchful silence; no humour or easy conversation anywhere to be seen and hope seemed a lifetime away. Behind the designer sunglasses, Tony's eyes were still hollowed by fatigue and the remnants of the URD treatment. Gibbs recognised the weary slump to his shoulders and the brittleness that spoke of a man who knew what it was to be broken and feared he would never be whole again. That was the burden that Tony DiNozzo now carried. The former Marine would have gladly given his own strength of will if it would help, but the physical power to fight this battle had to come from Tony.

Ducky's friend, Doctor Maurice Hollingsworth, met them at the centre and gave them a tour of the facility. With its fully equipped gym, tennis and basketball courts and manicured grounds, it looked more like a resort than a detox centre. The doctor explained that addiction recovery was equally dependent on physical and emotional wellbeing and the ability to relax and recapture all that life has to offer.

All too soon it was time for Gibbs to leave and, for an instant, Tony was all at sea, as if a sudden squall had knocked him off-course. He forced the panic from his mind and steadied himself with a cleansing breath. Looking away, his jaw moved as if he was searching for words then, after a long moment, he spoke in a raw whisper.

"Not sure I can do this, Boss?"

The sigh that Gibbs released came from his boots as he struggled inwardly with his own emotions. He looked intently at his agent and repeated the words he'd told him several nights ago.

"Never let me down before…you won't now."

Tony remained silent though his eyes were speaking volumes and in a rare show of emotion, Gibbs pulled his agent into an uncharacteristic hug with several encouraging back slaps. Tony hung on for a long moment before letting go and clearing the emotion from his voice with a quiet cough.

"See ya, in sixty days, Boss," he rasped, turning quickly and forcing himself to walk away before he changed his mind.

The lead agent watched him go.

"Make me proud, Tony," he whispered.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Gibbs hoisted his bag from the baggage claim, swung it over his shoulder and collected the keys to his pre-booked rental car. He shook his head at his extravagant decision to hire a luxury car rather than the more practical Dodge sedan. Stowing his bag in the trunk, he slipped behind the wheel, admired the feel of the luxury vehicle and headed for Hartford Valley Detox and Wellness Centre…and his senior field agent.

It had been nearly sixty days since he'd driven this road and the time had dragged by with irritating slowness. He, McGee and Ziva had worked effectively enough, closing their assigned cases and keeping up with the paperwork, but the MCRT was off-kilter. Although he'd never admit it aloud, he missed Tony's intuitiveness; the uniquely DiNozzo-esque way he looked at a case or interrogated a suspect and…if he was completely honest…he missed the yabba.

In the centre gymnasium, Tony finished a weights circuit and snatched his water bottle from his gym bag. He quenched his thirst and looked around the deserted building knowing that most of the staff and patients were attending a function in the conference centre. He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed a feeling of pride to wash over him. Fifty-nine days…and for thirty of them he'd been clean, facing each new day without the soul-destroying crutch of Subutex.

He'd put in the hard yards; taken the mandatory classes and attended the counselling sessions designed to help him retake control of his life. But it was in the gym that the former college athlete had found his greatest solace. The hours spent improving his physical fitness and regaining muscle mass had also helped restore his self-confidence and inner strength. While the ghost of his addiction would always live within him, Tony knew he was ready to return to his life.

Tossing his water bottle aside he picked up a basketball and moved to the court. His memory was flooded with images of his varsity days and hours of intense shooting, rebound, passing and footwork drills. He'd lost some speed and agility to age but there was no doubt that Anthony DiNozzo junior still knew his way around the court. He was standing on the mid-court line shaping to shoot when a familiar voice sounded from somewhere behind him.

"I got twenty that says you don't make that shot."

Eyes wide with surprise, Tony swung around to see his boss sitting in the bleachers.

"You might wanna rethink that, Boss, cause downtown is where I live," he grinned.

Gibbs felt an immediate release of tension as he silently welcomed the return of his cocky, self-assured agent.

"Show me what you got, hotshot," he replied.

Turning back to face the basket, Tony bounced the ball several times, never taking his eyes off the hoop. Bending his knees, he jumped high into the air, releasing the ball at the top of his jump and watching as it arced gracefully and dropped through the hoop without touching the rim.

"I still got some game, Boss," Tony said wearing a shit-eating grin.

"So I see," Gibbs replied, meeting his agent on court and handing him a twenty-dollar bill.

"Don't get me wrong, Boss, you're a sight for sore eyes and all," Tony said stashing the cash in the pocket of his shorts. "But I wasn't expecting you until later tonight."

"That why you're perfecting your jump shot when you're supposed to be attending a seminar?"

"Nope. I gotta free day today. The centre is holding a seminar for patients and families and …wait, that's why you're here?"

The familiar sting of a head slap elicited a surprised squeak.

"That's for not calling," Gibbs said.

"I thought about calling but, you know, it's kind of a lot to ask," Tony said still rubbing the back of his head. "How'd you find out about it anyway?"

"Your counsellor, Jill Martin, called. Thought you should have someone kicking your ass when you get outta here," Gibbs replied.

"And you're an excellent ass-kicker, Boss."

Gibbs checked his watch.

"You got fifteen minutes to hit the showers and clean up before it starts."

Tony's expression grew serious.

"If you'd rather not do this, Boss, I understa-"

"Fourteen minutes," the lead agent replied as the younger man jogged for the showers.

**0-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

Gibbs and Tony spent the rest of the day attending the family support and education seminar in the conference centre. The seminar concentrated on the critical role of families/sponsors in recovery, learning the stages of dependency recovery, recognising signs of struggle and possible relapse triggers and providing support during the transition from rehab into life. Knowing Tony would never join a support group, Gibbs willingly stepped into the role of sponsor. When the seminar ended, Tony introduced Gibbs to his counsellor, Jill Martin.

"We meet at last," the counsellor said with a warm smile for Gibbs.

"At last?" Tony repeated, feeling he was missing something.

"After speaking on the phone twice a week for two months, I feel like I know you already," Jill told Gibbs. "I'm happy to know that Tony has someone like you in his corner."

As Gibbs and Jill walked together to the refreshments area and helped themselves to the coffee, Tony was moved by the lengths his boss was prepared to go to assist his recovery…of course, it didn't hurt that his counsellor was an attractive redhead.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tossing his bathroom kit into his bag and zipping it closed, Tony's eyes did a final sweep of his room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

Although he was thrilled to finally be going home, a sudden apprehension and self-doubt seized him. While he fully expected the journey back to full health would be long and arduous, Tony reassured himself that he would not be travelling that path alone. Gibbs would be there to steady him if he stumbled…just like always.

Pulling free from his thoughts, he found his boss watching him with concerned eyes and for a long moment, he held Gibbs' gaze - not as agents but as friends. Speaking from the heart without uttering a word, he thanked Gibbs for his unwavering support. A rare smile lifted the corners of Gibbs' mouth and he nodded his head, warmed by the unspoken sentiment - message received and understood.

"All set?" Gibbs asked.

Tony grabbed his jacket that was hanging over a chair near the dresser and Gibbs spotted something underneath.

"You forget something?" he asked.

He watched in confusion as, without looking, his agent gave the object a subtle kick that pushed it further out of sight.

"Ready when you are, Boss," came the overly bright reply that conveniently ignored his question.

Gibbs persisted, intrigued by the younger man's odd behaviour.

"What's that?" he asked.

Tony's face morphed into the look of innocence he'd spent his life perfecting.

"What's what?"

Gibbs gave him an exasperated look and pointed.

"That box," he growled.

"Oh that! That's nothing…probably belonged to the guy who had this room before me," Tony said looking at his watch. "Is that the time? We better get going, Boss, if we're gonna call by Jack's on the way home."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed suspiciously - he wasn't buying. He reached down to retrieve the box only to have his agent anxiously block his path.

Gibbs' voice remained calm in stark contrast to the irritated look in his eyes.

"DiNozzo, you can move…or I'll move you," he said with a hint of menace.

Tony grimaced theatrically and reluctantly shuffled aside as Gibbs bent low and retrieved a hand made wooden toolbox.

"We can hand that in at the desk," Tony said. "I'm sure the centre has a lost and found."

Gibbs studied the toolbox before looking at his agent.

"You make this for me?" he asked.

"What? No!" Tony said, huffing a nervous laugh. "Like I said, Boss, the guy who had this room before me must have left that here."

Gibbs turned the toolbox around and pointed to the initials carved on the front – LJG.

"That freakin'...er...Larry Jim Grisling...ton...son," he said shaking his head disapprovingly. "Always leaving his stuff around. Anyway, I'm ready, Boss, let's go."

Gibbs quashed the ruse with a look not even Anthony DiNozzo could defy and the younger man sighed in resignation.

"Okay, this is not what it looks like," Tony started.

"You make this?"

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Ah…yes."

"Then it's exactly what it looks like," Gibbs told him as he examined the workmanship.

"You know how it is, Boss, they like to keep us busy here, you know…so we don't think about…well you know…" Tony felt the heat of a blush. "This is stupid, it's no big deal...you should just leave it here and we can pretend you never saw it."

The younger man reached out to take the toolbox from Gibbs who snatched it away possessively.

"S'not bad, DiNozzo."

"Really?" the younger man said with surprise. "I had a little trouble with the hinges and one corner isn't right but..."

"Good job on the sanding," Gibbs remarked looking more closely at the gift. "File this back and that corner will fit fine."

Tony stared at his boss, trying to read his face.

"So…you're keeping it?"

"Well, yeah, DiNozzo," the former Marine drawled. "If ya think Larry Jim Grislingtonson won't mind."

Tony's face broke into a split-watermelon grin and Gibbs couldn't help but match it.

"Let's go," he said with a gentle shoulder barge.

Hoisting his bag to his shoulder and grabbing his jacket, Tony followed Gibbs to the door of his room and turned around for one final look.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

"I made it, Boss," he said softly.

Gibbs reached across to gently squeeze the younger man's nape.

"Damn, straight," he replied hoping that Tony could hear the pride in his voice.

Gibbs watched as Tony walked to the discharge desk to say goodbye to the nurses and staff. Although he'd travelled quite a distance to leave his perdition behind, he had a long way to go to truly find solace. The secret darkness that lay dormant within him could return at any time in quest of his soul but both men knew…if this unseen demon returned for Tony, it would have to get by Gibbs first.

Finally exiting the building and walking toward the parking lot Tony's voice broke the silence.

"Hey, Boss, I've been thinking," he said. "With my new found talent for woodwork, maybe next time you build a boat I can, you know, help you out?"

Gibbs swallowed the smile that formed on his lips.

"Baby steps, DiNozzo, baby steps."

He tossed the keys of the rental in Tony's direction and watched as his agent easily plucked them out of the air.

"You want me to drive?" he asked with surprise, his eyes already scanning the parking lot for the plate that matched the number on the key tag.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he matched the number to the plate of a silver convertible.

"Boss!" he whispered, running his hand reverently along the sleek lines. "Do you know what this is? This is an Aston Martin DBS, the same model car that Bond drove in Quantum of Solace...this is amazing."

Gibbs grinned as his agent recited dialogue and movie trivia by rote.

"Welcome back, DiNozzo," he whispered.

**THE END**

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

A/N – Many thanks to a special reader who shared her own experiences with drug addiction and recovery with me and offered her advice on this chapter. Bless.

It's truly a humbling experience to have you travel each story's journey with me and to receive such overwhelming support. I hope you enjoyed it.

Until next time…with every good wish, L


End file.
